


Turn Night into Day

by Blue_Five



Series: Supernatural - The Movie [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Supernatural AU: Ladyhawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:59:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Five/pseuds/Blue_Five
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ladyhawke AU - Castiel was a thief who escaped the legendary dungeons of Aquila.  His rescuer hides a dark secret but they have more in common than they ever dreamed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A re-imagining of the 1985 film with a sprinkling of SPN cast members. Since it's an AU, some details may be slightly different. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction using characters from the Supernatural universe. I do not claim any ownership. This work is solely for entertainment purposes and is not considered film or tv canon (not by a long shot).

Castiel often wondered why his life was so difficult.  He was essentially a good man ... he certainly believed in God.  He spoke to him on a daily basis as a matter of fact, keeping up a running dialogue as he went about his business.  He felt that he was closer to God than most of the people around him.  But in spite of all of this, he continued to find himself in less than desirable positions and it confused him. His current situation was an excellent example of that confusion.

“Possible ... possible,” Castiel said firmly to himself.  “Nothing is impossible.”

As he talked to himself, Castiel pushed through the darkness.  He ignored the smell that permeated his very pores.  He fought back the waves of claustrophobia that threatened to overwhelm him as he twisted and contorted himself through the black.

“Come on, Castiel!  Dig!  Dig, Castiel, Dig!” Castiel urged himself forward.

Castiel could have wept with joy when one hand broke through the layers of muck and he could feel nothing but open air beyond.

* * *

The Bishop of Aquila, once known as Michael when he was but a lowly monk, gazed out across the nave of the cathedral when the loud crash of the gallows echoed within.  He turned away, unconcerned.  The strains of monks singing their praises to God filled the air but their voices could not dispel the chill that seemed to follow the Bishop to the altar.  The boys in the Bishop's attendance shivered and crossed themselves.

The Captain of the Guard, a man named Crowley, watched the bodies dance at the end of their nooses for a moment before calling over his second-in-command, Luc.  Luc is but a shortening of the man's true name – Lucifer.  He is indeed a devil – vicious in a fight.  The legend is that his mother recognized the demon within him and branded him with a name that would strike fear into everyone he met.  With his cold blue eyes, Lucifer is definitely an asset to Crowley's plans for power.

“Luc ... “ Crowley growled from his seat upon a large dapple gray mare.

Lucifer walked to his Captain's side.  “Yes, sir?”

“Get the next three,” Crowley ordered.  He was feeling particularly uneasy today for some reason.  He threw back another tankard of mead as he guided his mount away.

* * *

Castiel pressed his body harder against the layer of mud – and other things he did not want to thin about – that separated him from freedom.  A large chunk fell away and he was able to push out his arm almost to the shoulder.  Castiel vaguely wondered if the guards that kept the Bishop's dungeon had figured out where he had gone.  The thought made him smile and offer thanks to God that he could all but twist his body into a knot.

* * *

Lucifer stalked into the dungeon.  He was looking forward to ending the life of one particular individual from this hellhole.  He walked up to the jailer.

“I want Castiel ,” Luc said gruffly.

The jailer pointed at one of the many steel cages that made up the Bishop's dungeon.  “This is his cell, sir.”

Opening the gate, Luc walked in and noted several ragged men but none of them were his intended prey. 

“Wrong cell ... I want Castiel ... the one they call the 'angel',” Luc clarified angrily.

“Angel ... the angel ... no angel today ... he's run away!” One of the prisoners sing-songed.  “To ease the pain .. he's ... down the drain!”

The man indicated a grate that had been moved from one of the drainage holes in the floor of the cells.  Luc ran his hand in disbelief along one edge of the open hole.  He  slashed out at the singer with his sword.

“ _Where is he?”_ Lucifer yelled in fury. 

The prisoner cowered.  “I already told you, gentle lord!”

Luc angrily gestured at the singer.  “Take him!  And find Castiel or Captain Crowley will hang you in his place!”  His men dragged the prisoner away, protesting and screaming.  Luc stared at the hole and tried to process what he was seeing before him.

“Impossible ... no one could escape through _that_ ,” Luc hissed.

The doors to the church clanged open and several of the Bishop's guards entered.  Crowley entered and pointed to the bell ropes as he walked forward toward the altar.  The Bishop regarded him impassively from where he stood.  Crowley bowed to him just as his men began to pull on the ropes.  The bells of Aquila sounded through the morning air. The Bishop's expression did not reveal the sudden blaze of fury rising within him.

* * *

Castiel's head emerged from the hole he had made.  By twisting his torso like a corkscrew, he was able to get his other arm out of the hole.  Now with the proper leverage, Castiel pushed his body forward into the open air – and abruptly, he was falling.  With a loud yell, Castiel fell into stagnant water far below.  He was immediately caught in the current and swept along .  His speed was not too fast, so Castiel glanced around him, taking in the algae covered walls of the Aquila sewers.  Roman architecture at its finest, Castiel mused, admiring the perfectly formed arches that made up the waterway.

Looking forward again, Castiel jerked back in horror.  He scrambled to find some way out of the water.  A nearby ledge created by fallen bricks gave him the escape he sought.  Pulling himself onto the pile of stones, Castiel hugged the wall and watched a dark form floating towards him in the foul river.

“Lord,” Castiel gasped.  “Lord, I will never pick another pocket as long as I live ... I swear it!” Castiel shuddered in fear as the unknown creature came closer.  “But ... and here's the problem, Lord -- if you don't let me live, how will I prove my good faith to You?  If you've heard me, this ledge will remain steady as a rock and that ... _thing_ ... coming at me will not be what I think it is.  Of course, if it is, there will be no hard feelings ... but I will be very disappointed.”

The object spun in the current and revealed itself to be nothing more than the skull of some hapless bovine that had been washed into the sewers.  Castiel chuckled.

“I don't believe it ...” He murmured.

The strains of a hymn drifted down to Castiel.  He looked up, his black hair plastered to his head by water and muck.  Bright blue eyes took on a hopeful cast as he listened and followed the music through the sewer.

“Apologies, my Lord ... I believe it!  He waded through the waer until he reached an access shaft rose from the sewer to a grate above.  Metal handholds had been pounded into the walls of the shaft and it was these that Castiel grabbed hold of eagerly.  “I'm coming! It's Castiel, Lord!  Castiel!”

* * *

Far from the walls and sewers of Aquila, a cloaked man on a night black stallion paused and listened to the warning bells pealing across the countryside.  On one arm perched a beautiful hawk with golden-brown coloring over its feathers and fierce amber eyes.  It flapped its tremendous wings in irritation.  The man gazed at the white walled city.  His hazel-green eyes were inscrutable.

* * *

Castiel grunted as he climbed the shaft to the grate overhead and continued his discourse with God.  “You won't regret this Lord ... as you know, I am a wonderful person.  I think I've done quite well with the existence You've granted me."  He pressed his fingers through the gate and pushed upwards.  The heavy metal lattice did not move.  Castiel pushed again, struggling to get some sort of leverage.  The monks singing swelled and filled the shaft with glorious echoes.

It was fortunate that they did so for at that time, Luc came strolling through the church nave scanning the crowd.  He did not notice when he stepped on Castiel's fingers nor did he hear the man's shout as he fell the several feet down the shaft to the water below to land with a great splash.

Once underwater, Castiel noticed an opening that could not be seen above the surface.  Grinning, he swam with the current until he came to another grate.  At first his heart sank within him, but then he noticed that the grate was mostly rusted away on one side.  He pulled his thin, limber frame through the hole and headed to the surface. He broke into the air with a tremendous gasp.  He was outside the walls.

* * *

Crowley waited in the arcade surrounding the Bishop's private courtyard.  As the Bishop walked toward him, Crowley said softly.  “I have disturbing news, your Grace.  One of the prisoners has escaped from the prison.”

The Bishop looked sharply at Crowley before continuing to walk forward. 

“No one _ever_ escapes from the dungeons of Aquila, Crowley.  The people of this city accept that as a historical fact.” The Bishop said darkly.

Crowley nodded.  “The responsibility is mine, Bishop.”

“ _Yes indeed_ ,” The Bishop hissed.

“It would be a miracle if he manages to get through the sewers alive.” Crowley offered.

The Bishop's eyes narrowed.  “I believe in miracles, Crowley.  It's part of my job.”  He looked steadily at Crowley.

Crowley pursed his lips.  “At any rate, your Grace ... it is only one insignificant, petty theif.”

“Great storms announce themselves with a simple breeze, Captain.  And a single, random spark can ignite the  fires of rebellion.”

“If he's out there, your Grace, I shall find him.”

“Indeed, Captain.  Make sure that you do.” The Bishop raised his ring before Crowley.  The man brushed his lips over it before he left at a quick stride.

Shortly thereafter, Crowley faced his men from the back of his mount.  “We ride north!  The name of the man who finds Castiel will be brought to the personal attention of the Bishop ... as will the body of the man who lets him escape!  Open the gates!”  Crowley and his guards rode out into the surrounding countryside in a cloud of dust and thundering hooves.

While two of the guard sat alongside the waterway, Castiel swam quietly beneath them and with infinite care, reached up and slid one of the guard's dagger from its holster. Then, with the ease of long practice, he sliced through the cords holding the man's coin purse to his belt.  He sank down into the water and swam quietly away.

“I know I promised, Lord ... never again.  But I also know that you know what a weak-willed human I am."

Castiel pulled himself from the water and quickly hid as more mounted guards thundered past.  He sighed and looked up from his hiding place.  When he saw no other riders, he ran for the forest.  Jogging down a leaf-strewn path, Castiel panted with the exertion of running so long.  “Come on, Castiel.  Keep going,” he murmured to himself as he ran.  “It's not much farther ... only 150 miles.  Not far.” 

Later, staggering through snow-covered rocks beside the river farther north, Castiel hugged himself tightly.  The cold was horrible and biting so he began to think of food he liked.

“A nice hot piece of cabbage ... like that woman made once ... “ The air around Castiel erupted in wolf howls.  The mournful sound chilled Castiel's heart.  “Wolves ... please ... no wolves ... “

Castiel stumbled and another thought occured to him.  “A joint of lamb! Wait ... where the hell am I?  Hot lamb, hot lamb ... with sauce ... yes, and maybe some of that green stuff that old Bertram used to put on it ...”

Cold and not a little delirious, Castiel continued on his way quietly babbling.

* * *

The cloaked rider guided his mount toward sunset.  He could hear the faint calling of the hawk and raised his arm.  The creature lit on his glove gently.  He smiled at the winged beast and it regarded him with eyes devoid of emotion.  He rode on, following a trail that he was unsure would lead anywhere he wanted to go.

* * *

Castiel followed the chaotic path of a herd of goats into a small makeshift camp.  While attentions were distracted, he moved swiftly through the camp, snagging clothes hanging out to dry on bushes and tree limbs. He slipped away just as quickly.

Dressed and warmer, Castiel ran down a dirt road toward another little hamlet.  He did not see the rider on his black steed.  The man's short, dark blonde hair captured the amber light of evening.  The hawk flared its wings impatiently as they watched the slender thief run past.

"Definitely not the sharpest knife in the kitchen, is he?" The man muttered to the hawk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction using characters from the Supernatural universe. I do not claim any ownership. This work is solely for entertainment purposes and is not considered film or tv canon (not by a long shot).

Castiel walked toward the ramshackle inn.  He was in high spirits and feeling particularly cocky. 

“Innkeeper! A drink of your most expensive!” Castiel said.

The man regarded him blankly for a moment and then, with a supremely bored expression walked over to where he kept his kegs.  “Yes, yes ... show me your money, whelp.”

Castiel quickly shook the coin purse.  “Copper my friend!”  He glanced around.  “And one for anyone who will join me in a toast!”

Two cloaked men sat at one of the tables.  They turned toward Castiel. “Let's hear your toast, boy.”

Emboldened by the alcohol and his own luck, Castiel took his drink and turned toward the men.  He spoke easily as he approached.

“We drink to a special man, my friend ... someone who has seen the inside of the dungeons of Aquila and lived to tell the tale.”

One of the men chuckled.  “Then you drink to me, my young friend.  I have seen those dungeons.”

Castiel regarded the man curiously.  “A blacksmith, perhaps?  A stone cutter?  A carpenter like our Lord, even ... but a prisoner from inside Aquila?”

The man pulled his cloak back to reveal the helmet of the Captain of the Guard.  Crowley smirked.  “I never said I was a prisoner.”

The other men with him threw back their own cloaks to reveal themselves as guards – one of them was Crowley's second, Lucifer.  Castiel felt all the blood in his body freeze. 

“Ah, Castiel ... if you had stuck to the woods, you might have stood a chance.”

Castiel nodded while walking backwards.  “You're right, of course.”

Crowley looked almost bored as he said, “Take him.”

Castiel stood still for a moment longer until Lucifer reached out to grab him and then his paralysis fled.  He ducked quickly and dove under the nearest table.  Lucifer and the guards threw table after table aside as they pursued Castiel.  Lucifer roared at a table of terrified peasants to get out of the way.  A hunched figure huddled at the table.  Luc turned and snagged its cloak.

“I said, get out of the ---” Luc's voice died in his throat as he realized Castiel had been hiding there.

Castiel rolled over the table on his back and delivered a savage kick to Lucifer's jaw, sending the guard sprawling.  He staggered into the grip of another guard, but they were not prepared for the thief slender and extremely flexible body.  He slid out of the grip of the guard and ducked beneath the legs of several guards running toward him.  Castiel leapt over one of the tables just as Lucifer lunged at him.

Scrambling under the platform that held the tables, Castiel belly-crawled to the other side.  He emerged and saw another guard heading toward him. With an annoyed grunt, Castiel climbed onto the lattice that stood over the tables, festooned in vines and grapes.  He balanced on the withes and ran to and fro trying to find a place that would allow him to jump down.

The shouts of the guards faded as a clapping drifted through the air. Crowley, who'd watched the entire fiasco from his bench, looked at Castiel with a bored expression.  He pointed to the ground.  Castiel measured his chances and reluctantly leapt down to the dirt.  A gloved hand, belonging to Lucifer immediately snagged his hair painfully and pulled him standing.

Castiel refused to give in ... he drew his dagger and slashed out at the guards surrounding him.  Lucifer grabbed his arm as Castiel dragged his blade in a wide arc.  Walking up amused, Crowley barely had time to jerk back as the knife cut the air in front of him.  He did not pull back far enough and a line of red appeared just under his left eye.  Castiel gasped and dropped his dagger in shock.  Crowley ran a gloved finger along the cut and examined his own blood staining the tip.

“I—I am so terribly sorry,” Castiel began to stammer.

“Kill him,” Crowley said.

Castiel whimpered as he was dragged across the courtyard to a post and held tightly against it.  One of the guards smirked and lay the edge of his sword against Castiel's neck.  The young man closed his eyes.

“May God have mercy on my --” Castiel began to shout.

The guard never completed his swing as a crossbow bolt buried itself in his arm.  The guards turned in shock to see who had fired the arrow. Crowley raised an eyebrow as he regarded the new arrival.

Standing at the gate to the courtyard stood a young man dressed in black.  He regarded the scene before him calmly and kept his crossbow held in front of him.  Another guard tried to attack from the side, but the man simply shot him with the crossbow and kept looking at Crowley. He motioned to Castiel.

“You,” the man said in a low, rough voice that made Castiel shiver.  “Out.” He indicated the gate with his crossbow.

Castiel did not hesitate.  He walked out of the courtyard with a dazed expression on his face.  Crowley held up a hand to keep his men from pursuing.  As Castiel drew up to the man, he handed Castiel the crossbow and drew his sword.  Castiel took the weapon and ran, dropping it on the way.  Crowley walked toward the man.

“One of my men told me you were back ... I cut his throat for lying to me. Pity, it appears you _are_ that stupid.”

The man looked amused and turned to leave.  A sword slashed out and he easily parried it. 

“Captain Winchester ...” the man who'd attacked said the name with some humor.

The man in black smiled.  “Charles ... “ He approached the man with an easy grin, remembering easier days when Charles had been one of the soldiers under his command.  Some in the guard had called him 'Chuck', but the Captain never liked the nickname.

“ _Captain_ ...” Crowley said disdainfully.  He planted a boot squarely in Chuck's back and shoved him forward.

The man Chuck had called Captain was a consummate soldier.  He had approached with his sword outward.  It was this blade that Chuck was impaled upon when Crowley's kick sent him stumbling.  The man in black caught Chuck's body and stared in grief-stricken disbelief as the life drained from his eyes.  Pulling his sword free, the man faced his killer.  Crowley laughed.  He stopped laughing when the man's gloved fist sent him sprawling.

Captain Winchester realized quickly that he was going to have to fight his way free.  He hoped the boy had made it to freedom.  Moving swiftly, Winchester grabbed a handful of horseshoes from the blacksmith's rack and threw them into the guard attacking him.  The man fell and the Captain was suddenly confronted by Lucifer.  He dodged Luc's sword and used the man's momentum against him to send him sprawling into a nearby door.

Crowley was staggering to his feet when the man grabbed his chainmail and hauled him upright.  Crowley stared into hazel eyes burning with fury.  They were also full of an internal debate – Crowley smirked as Winchester released him.  He stopped smiling when the man delivered a firm kick to Crowley's midsection that caused him to fall backwards – into the blacksmith's fire.  Crowley's cape instantly burst into flames.

Winchester walked out of the courtyard.  The other guards did not attempt to attack him and he regarded them with disgust.  He whistled and his horse appeared. 

“C'mon, baby,” He murmured as he mounted the stallion.  “Let's go find the little one.”

Castiel was hurtling headlong down the main road, his fear having made him reckless.  He felt, rather than heard, the pounding of hooves behind him.  Turning, he saw the man in black about to ride him down. Castiel yelled in fear as he tried to run faster.  Winchester leaned over as he rode and easily snagged Castiel's tunic, hauling him up and across the saddle.

The thief saw one of Crowley's men closing a gate across the main road. Winchester merely dug in his heels and his steed gave an extra burst of speed.  His mouth quirked as he heard the frightened screech from his passenger as they flew over the gate.  A kick out to one side incapacitated the guard.

Looking behind them, Castiel saw two riders in pursuit.  They were about to open the gate and continue the chase. Then .. an amazing sight -- a hawk, with gold-dappled wings dove straight for them.  His talons extended, he flew directly into the face of one of them, unhorsing him.  The hawk screeched and flew away as if nothing untoward had happened.

“Show-off,” Castiel's rescuer murmured.  He'd turned to see the hawk delaying the other riders so that they would have a clear path to freedom. Castiel wondered what insane hell he'd fallen into and would he be able to survive it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Until I began this, I don't think I'd ever noticed how much Matthew Broederick's character just babbles! He makes me dizzy trying to decipher what he's saying!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction using characters from the Supernatural universe. I do not claim any ownership. This work is solely for entertainment purposes and is not considered film or tv canon (not by a long shot).

Castiel continued to wonder at his fate as he rode pillion with the man who had saved his life. The man hadn't said anything during the entire ride. Castiel offered small comments but they weren't acknowledged. The hawk had flown up to its master and now rested on one arm as they rode. It regarded Castiel with what could only be called suspicion. Now, as the sun continued to drop below the horizon, the man was guiding them towards small hovel tucked back in the woods.

"Somebody must be home," Castiel said brightly. "There's smoke. But, wouldn't you rather ride on, sir? There's still plenty of light."

"Stop your chattering," the rider said. "We'll spend the night here."

A short, round peasant woman was making her way to the main ... hut? ... with a shout. The rider followed and she ran behind a thin man who regarded them coolly.

Castiel looked around and wondered if he wouldn't be better off sleeping on a rock in the woods. The rider, however, seemed to be intent on staying in this place and well before dark at that.

"Hello, sir. My ... comrade-in-arms and I are in need of lodging for the night," he said.

The man and his wife were both shaking their heads. The man brandished a wickedly sharp ax before him. "No ... no there is no place for you here."

The rider was undeterred. "We'll pay, of course."

The man and his wife seemed more considering after this fact. Castiel decided to speak up and show that he held some status.

"We are not above compassion for those in ... limited circumstances," Castiel jingled the coin purse as he did so.

The rider glanced back at him, annoyed, but the man pointed past them. "You may stay down there ... in the barn."

"Thank you," the rider said. He watched the couple walk into their home with narrowed eyes.

Settling into the barn, the man called Winchester pulled something from his saddlebag. He smiled wistfully. It was the helmet that once proclaimed _his_ status as Captain of the guard. But it was what was in it that made him smile. A leather-bound book ... a journal of sorts. He was still grinning at it when he heard his new charge calling out to him.

Castiel found the rider and said, "Sir, there really isn't anything else I can do ... I'll turn in,"

The rider chuckled. "No, you can look after my horse."

Castiel regarded the large black beast with some trepidation. "Umm ... very well ..."

"You can also sleep with one eye open," the rider advised. "And don't disturb me ... I'm liable to take your head off before I realize it's you."

Castiel nodded, looking at his savior for the first time. He was surprised to see a man not much older than himself. Castiel smiled to himself at the light sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose. The hazel-green eyes watched him intently as he unwound the lead and began to tug at the horse.

"C'mon, old girl," Castiel said, pulling harder as the horse did not move. "Stubborn little lady ... what's her name?"

With an amused grin that made his eyes sparkle, the rider said, " _His_ name is Impala."

"Oh, uh ... unusual name ..."

"A Moor gave him to me along with the name, which is what they call a fleet-footed beast from his lands," the rider said. "Go with him, boy, he didn't mean to be rude."

Castiel glanced beneath the stallion and flushed. "Oh ... _him_ ... well, let's go, boy ..." Castiel pulled on the lead and this time the horse followed. He could have sworn that he saw something like annoyance in Impala's eyes. "I think you should know that they call me the angel ... an apt nickname as I am very kind ... and did I tell you that the Lord and I have a _personal_ acquaintance?"

Winchester shook his head as the slender man with the blue eyes led Impala off to be bedded down. "I pray for help and you send me a madman, Lord? Not very fair ..."

Going back into the stable, he took the book out once again and looked through its pages. Sketches of animals, bits of calligraphy, notes everywhere – the book was one of their father's few possessions – he'd passed it down to his sons in the hopes that they would continue it. He gently turned the pages until a familiar feeling came over him. He looked up and saw that the sun was almost gone. He put the book back into the saddlebag with a sigh. Looking up, he was momentarily transfixed by the dying light.

"One day, Sammy ... one day ..."

* * *

Castiel stomped irritably through the forest surrounding the huts. He snorted, "Comrade-in-arms ... slave more like it ..." Castiel picked up firewood as he went. "See to the fire ... feed the animals ... gather the wood ... "Castiel glanced beseechingly at the sky. "Look at me, Lord! I was better off in the dungeons of Aquila! Granted ... my cellmate was insane ... and a murderer ... but he _respected_ me."

Castiel sighed and continued to pick up branches. He mused to himself, "He's a strange one ... I think I heard them call him Winchester? Odd name. Sur name? Why did he save my life? He wants something from me ... I can see it in his eyes." Castiel paused and glanced at the sky again. "Well, whatever it is, Lord ... I'm not going to do it! I'm still young ... I have prospects!"

Throwing down his armful of wood, Castiel turned to go back the way they'd come. "I'm off to find my golden future, Captain ... so good-bye and good -"

A snapping twig brought Castiel up short. He looked around, suddenly realizing just how dark the woods were becoming as night fell. He swallowed hard. "Hello?"

When no response was forthcoming, Castiel turned and began to walk briskly back to the barn. He heard more twigs snapping and froze. An idea occurred to him.

"Who do you think is out there?" Castiel called, shakily. "You'd better draw your sword, um ... Pierre ... oh uh, Louis! You brought your crossbow ... " Castiel took a deep breath. "Um ... we'll all go back to the barn now ..." In deeper voices, he answered himself, "Alright! Yeah!"

Castiel began to walk toward the barn again when a loud snapping echoed behind him. Castiel broke and ran pell-mell for the peasant's clearing. He tried to keep up a steady back and forth banter with his imaginary cohorts but eventually gave it up as pointless. He needed the air for running after all.

As he reached the slope that led down to the campfire and the barn, Castiel lost his footing on the leaf-strewn ground and slid down the incline with a shout. He stumbled and finally pulled himself upright as he looked around frantically for what or who ever had been following him. The woods were silent. Castiel sighed and turned to head for the barn. He sensed, rather than heard the movement behind him and was greeted by the sight of the peasant man raising his ax high above his head. Castiel abandoned all pretense and simply screamed.

A low growl rumbled behind him and Castiel turned to see an enormous black wolf racing across the clearing. He wondered what he had done to deserve death by not only a murderous peasant with an ax but also a wolf with claws and razor sharp teeth.

The wolf, however, ran past Castiel and launched itself at the man. Fangs tore into the peasant's throat as he screamed. The ax fell harmlessly to the side.

Castiel was beside himself with terror. "Sir! Sir! Wolf! Wolf!" He screamed as he ran into the barn, looking for his much-braver companion. No one was there. "Sir?"

Casting around in desperation, Castiel found Winchester's crossbow and a quarrel. His fear was making him babble worse than normal. "Wolf! Wolf!" Pulling back with all his strength, Castiel was just able to string the bow. He placed the quarrel in the groove and aimed it toward the wolf.

That was when a hand reached over and snatched the quarrel off the crossbow. Castiel jerked around and found himself looking up into amber eyes that seemed vaguely familiar. A tall man, wearing a cloak not unlike Winchester's stood behind him. The man held a finger to his lips. "Hush."

Castiel was frozen. He was quite sure that he was losing his mind ... ax murderers, wolves and now strange, freakishly tall men wearing cloaks? It was as if all the oddities of the world had singled out this moment to present themselves.

The man's eyes flicked toward the wolf and the now dead peasant. He kept his gaze focused on the creature and slowly made his way out of the barn. Castiel blinked.

_He's mad ... he can't go out there, that wolf will kill him!_ Castiel thought.

"Sir! Sir! You can't go out there! There's the biggest wolf you've ever seen ... and ... and a dead man!" Castiel pleaded, tugging at the man's sleeve.

The man never looked toward Castiel, he simply pulled his hand off and patted Castiel's shoulder. "I know ..."

With that, the man walked out of the barn. Castiel watched, terrified. "Sir! Please!" The man did not turn nor slow his pace. Castiel sagged back against the barn's door frame. A mournful wolf's howl echoed through the woods.

"Maybe I'm dreaming ..." Castiel mused. "My eyes are open, which means maybe I'm awake ... dreaming I'm asleep ..." Castiel looked out the door again. "Or ... I'm asleep, dreaming I'm awake, _wondering_ if I'm dreaming ..."

A soft laugh echoed across the clearing. "You _are_ dreaming, little thief."

Castiel had had enough of strangeness. His fear grabbed hold of him and he scrambled into the loft of the barn. Here, at least, he would be safe from wolves ... strange men in cloaks? That remained to be seen. Crawling over to a gap in the loft wall, Castiel looked down and saw an amazing thing.

The tall man walked calmly towards the wolf, which made a whimpering noise. When the tall man turned to walk a different way, the wolf followed. Castiel watched as they walked out of the camp's clearing, man and wolf side-by-side. Castiel threw himself back into the hay. With one arm thrown across his eyes, he began to whisper to God.

"I have not seen what I have seen. I do not believe what I believe, Lord." Castiel gasped. "These are magical, unexplainable matters and I _beg_ you not to make me again a part of them!"

Castiel, the one called the "Angel", fell asleep trembling with fear over what nightmare he'd stumbled into.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction using characters from the Supernatural universe. I do not claim any ownership. This work is solely for entertainment purposes and is not considered film or tv canon (not by a long shot).

Looking down at the sleeping man, Winchester found a warmth seeping into his heart that he thought he could never feel for any other than Sam. Truth, despite the never-ending stream of words, he found himself liking the thief.  He was unusual but then again, Winchester could not complain of strangeness.  His life was a veritable treasure trove of oddness. 

With a gloved hand, Winchester brushed an unruly lock of the black hair away from the blue eyes that were closed in sleep.  He was handsome ... in a strange sort of way.  His hair constantly looked like he'd only just risen.  It was ... fetching.

Castiel stirred and came awake with a sudden gasp.  He opened his eyes to see deep green eyes looking down at him.  He did not try to pull away, but the man stood abruptly.  Castiel noticed a faint blush across the freckled face. 

“Get up ... we need to be going.”

Castiel nodded wearily and followed the man down to the barn floor.  There he paused and looked at the man in black.  “Sir ... we've traveled these many miles and I don't even know your Christian name.”

The man paused with his hand on his saddle.  His mouth quirked.  “Dean. Dean Winchester.”

Castiel smiled.  “I am Castiel, called the angel by some.”

“Angel, eh?  And what was an angel doing in the dungeons of Aquila?” Dean asked.

“Obviously I was there by mistake ...” Castiel said, moving to take the lead on the horse.  “After all, how could one   insignificant man such as myself have stolen four loaves of bread?  And the horse ... how was I to know it belonged to the second-in-command of the guard?

Dean laughed heartily.  “Lucifer's horse?  Little thief, you astonish me daily.”

Castiel smirked.  For whatever reason, he enjoyed hearing Dean laugh and seeing the green eyes brighten in humor.  He spared a moment to study Dean as he saddled Impala. 

_Handsome, indeed, Lord._ Castiel thought.  _Pity the religious leaders of this world would frown rather severely on my choice of companion.  Still ... they are not here, are they, Lord?_

Castiel smiled to himself as they set off into the forest.

* * *

After a few miles in a cold, soaking drizzle, Dean paused.  He'd been walking with the hawk perched on one arm and Castiel leading Impala behind him.  Looking up at the sky he sighed.

“We'll stop here ... not a great day for traveling,” Dean said.  He moved over to a nearby rock and settled down on it.  He glanced at the hawk who regarded him silently.

Castiel pulled on Impala's lead until he finally managed to get the horse close enough to a tree trunk to tie a quick hitch.  Pulling himself into a ball underneath the horse's head, Castiel looked at Dean.

“I could use a rest after last night,” He muttered.  “That wolf would have killed me!  It was horrible!”  Dean's mouth quirked as Castiel continued complaining.  “But for some reason, he tore the farmer's throat out and left me alone.  Why would he do that?  Wolves don't do that ... do they?”

Dean didn't offer an opinion one way or the other.

“But there was more ... a man ... he was a giant!  With amber eyes ... almost like a bird's.  He spoke to me ... he sounded ... gentle, almost.”

Dean looked up.  “He talked?  What did he say?”

“I asked him if I was dreaming and he said I was ... “

“Hmm,” Dean said quietly.

Castiel bristled.  “I'm not insane!  You must believe me when I tell you these things!”

Dean smiled and looked into the fascinating blue eyes.  “Oh, I believe you ... I've always believed in dreams.”

“I see,” Castiel said, insulted.

“This man ... did he have a name?” Dean asked.

“Not that he mentioned.  Why?”

“Well, you never know ... your giant might wander into my dreams.  Might be nice if I knew his name in case he wasn't so ... gentle ... towards me.”  Dean looked fondly at the hawk, his eyes distant with some remembered moment.  “It's been a long time since I talked to anyone in my dreams ... giant or otherwise.”

Dean sighed and then pulled his hood down over his face.  “Get some sleep, Cas the angel.”  He exhaled tiredly.  “The bird will alert us if anyone comes.”

Castiel frowned.  _Cas?_   Reaching up he patted the horse's leg.  “I am out of my mind, Impala.  Completely out of my mind.”

* * *

Crowley rode hard.  He had to get back to Aquila ... back to the Bishop – even though he did not relish the news he had to deliver.  No, he was not looking forward to that conversation at all.

Pounding through the gates, Crowley led his mount over cobblestone walkways at nearly full speed.  The soldier moved with alacrity to get out of the way or be trampled.  As he reached the Bishop's garden, only then did Crowley reign in his mount and leap out of the saddle.

Sore from his long ride and with his hair plastered to his head with sweat, Crowley tiredly walked into the Bishop's courtyard and stood near the lavish fountain and waited to be acknowledged.  His eyes narrowed as he watched  the young man dancing for the Bishop while another one played a gentle tune on a lute.  He had, of course, heard the rumors of the Bishop's ... predilections ... but it was not for him to ponder over such matters.  The dancer stopped and the music faded.

“Have you found the criminal, Crowley?”

“He is ... not in my custody at the moment, your Grace,” Crowley said.

The Bishop whirled on Crowley with a snarl.  “Then why do you invade my garden, unwashed and unshaved?  Do you think to find him here?!”

Crowley cleared his throat slowly.  “My Grace ... Winchester has returned.”

The Bishop's face froze in a mask of such rage, Crowley was taken aback. It faded into calm impassiveness, but Crowley had seen something there ... something very dark.

“Walk with me,” the Bishop said.

Crowley joined the Bishop in a walk down the arcade on one side of his courtyard.  He continued his report.  “The criminal ... Castiel ... he travels with him.”

The Bishop stopped abruptly and turned to Crowley.  “Did you say ... Castiel?”

Crowley blinked.  “Yes, your Grace.”

“Fool! I should have known this from the start!”  The Bishop growled.  He began to walk again.  “No matter ... what of the hawk?”

“My Grace?”

As if talking to a stupid child, the Bishop said angrily.  “A hawk!  A very ... spirited hawk ...” He turned to Crowley.  “The hawk is not to be harmed.  The day he dies, a new Captain of the guard will preside over your execution.”  He strolled along, ignoring Crowley's dumbfounded expression.  “We live in difficult times, Crowley.  This famine has kept the people from paying proper tribute to the Church.  I raise their taxes only to be told there is nothing left to tax.  Imagine!”  He paused and looked heavenward.  “But last night, the Lord Almighty came to me in a dream and warned that Satan's messenger walks among us.  His name is Dean Winchester and his familiar is one they call Castiel.  Go!  To break faith with me is to break faith with Him.”

Crowley kissed the Bishop's ring and backed away.  The Bishop turned and clapped for attention.  “Get me Czar!”

“Yes, your Grace,” Came the immediate reply. 

_I will rid myself of you, once and for all, Dean Winchester.  And then I will take what is mine and none shall be there to stop me,_ the Bishop smiled coldly to himself.

* * *

Castiel whistled a rambling tune as he used the Captain's sword to cut firewood.  Dragging another branch into place, he lifted – with some difficulty – the large sword over his head.  It was abruptly snatched out of his hands.  Dean Winchester stood there, holding the sword reverently.

“This sword has been in my family for generations.  It has never known defeat ... until now.  Firewood, Cas?” Dean rolled his eyes.  He looked over the pommel with its ivory inlay and the blade with its instricate swirls carved painstakingly into its surface.  It gleamed with constant sharpening and polishing.  He indicated a deep blue jewel on the cross arm.  “This stands for my family name.” He pointed to a ruby.  “This is our allegiance to the Holy Church in Rome.”  Dean caressed an onyx.  “This one, was my father's ... from the crusades.”  He turned the sword and ran his finger over an empty setting.

Castiel paled.  “Sir, you don't think that I took that one!”

Dean chuckled.  “No ... no, that one is mine to fill.”  He walked to a large boulder and lay the blade down.  “Every generation has to follow its own quest.”

“What is your quest, Dean?” Castiel asked.

“I am going to kill a man.” Dean said.

Castiel snorted.  “And does this walking corpse have a name?”

“His Grace, the Bishop of Aquila,” Dean turned his flashing green gaze on Castiel.

Castiel swallowed hard.  “Th-the Bishop?”  A dark memory of agony and fear flashed through Castiel's mind.  He shook his head as if in pain.

“Cas?” Dean asked with a frown.

Castiel waved Dean away.  “No .. no ... um ... well, it seems you have much to do and I have already been enough of a burden to you ... I do hope ... our paths cross again some day.”

Dean blinked.  Watching Castiel walk away from him left him feeling strangely bereft.  He cleared his throat.  “Cas!  I need you to guide me back into the city.”

Castiel turned and faced Dean with a ghost-white expression.  “Not for the lives of all my brothers – if they even knew where I was ...”

Dean ran his gloved hand down the blood channel of his sword.  “You're the only one who has ever escaped from there, Cas.”

“A fluke!  It was a once in a lifetime!  A miracle!” Castiel cried, running his hands into his already mussed hair.  “I fell down a hole and followed my nose.”

Dean sighed deeply.  “Cas ... I have prayed and waited almost two years for a sign from God.  So when I heard the warning bells of Aquila ring through the forest, I knew ... I knew that the moment of my destiny had come.  You, Castiel, will be my guiding angel -- appropriate don't you think?”

Castiel stared at Dean in stunned disbelief.  “I'm sorry, Dean ... I talk to God all the time and no offense ... He has never mentioned you.”

Dean laughed and while that made a pleasant shiver run down Castiel's spine, he could not stop the growing fear in his belly at the thought of returning to Aquila.  Returning to the Bishop and his ... Castiel shook his head from the memory.  He glared at Dean.  “There are strange forces at work in your life, Dean.  Magical ones ... they surround you, I can feel them.  I don't understand them, Dean ... but they frighten me in ways you will never know.  You have given me my life and I can never repay that.”  Castiel sighed.  “I am fallen with no honor.  I doubt I will ever have it.  I do not think you will kill me, Dean, for being what I am but I would rather that than return to Aquila.”

With that, Castiel walked away from Dean.  He felt the rush of air that went past his head and suddenly Dean's sword was quivering in the trunk of the tree he stood beside.  Castiel was a coward on the best of days.  Today was no different.  He swallowed and put out a hand to stop the sword's vibration.  Dean merely watched him in silence while leaning against the boulder.

“I'll just go get some firewood, shall I?”

* * *

The moon rose in the night sky and lit a small campfire blazing merrily in a clearing.  The tall man that had spoken to Castiel waited by the fire.  He sat motionless.  Then suddenly he turned and a dagger flew from his hands.  A rabbit fell mid-dash – brought down by a perfect throw.  The man chuckled.

“ _Told_ you I had been practicing, Dean.”

Quickly skinning and spitting the rabbit, the tall man looked around at a faint rustling sound just outside the perimeter of the camp.  He frowned and stood to investigate, his dagger loose in his hand and away from his body.  His eyes widened in surprise at what he found.

The man he'd met in the barn stood there, tied to a tree.  He looked forlorn and pathetic as opposed to the terrified and near hysterical state he'd been in at the farmer's land. 

“Sir? Sir ... if you could be so kind as to release me?”

The man walked over to examine the prisoner – the shock of black hair made him smile even as the man's blue eyes appeared almost luminous in the moonlight.  “What are you doing up there?”

“Well ... you might ask that ... um ... the ... uh ... Bishop's guards. Over a dozen of them.  We had a terrible fight.” Castiel elaborated.

“Uh-huh ... and why didn't they kill you?” The man asked with a smirk.

“Why didn't they --- um, well ... I asked them that myself, sir,” Castiel said quickly.

“Sam.”

“Pardon?”

“My name is Sam ... who are you?” Sam asked.

“Castiel the angel at your service,” Castiel replied.

“Well, Castiel the angel ... what did the guards say?” Sam smiled.

“Um ... they said they preferred to leave that honor to the Bishop himself,” Castiel lied.  He had been surprised early in life to find that to be quite easy.

Sam chuckled.  “Ah, I see.  You're that infamous, are you?”

“Yes, but they will be back soon,” Castiel warned.

“Will they?”

“Please, sir ... Sam ... a giant owl examined me quite closely not a moment ago.”

Sam grinned up at the thief.  “Unfortunate.”

“Please, Sam?” Castiel pleaded.

Sam just looked at him.

“Please?” Castiel said with his best desperate expression.

Sam sighed.  “No wonder Dean kept you if you turned that look on him. He always did have a thing for blue eyes ...” Sam walked up the incline and with a quick slice, cut the bonds on Castiel's wrist. Castiel rubbed his hands together to urge circulation back in them.

Sam watched, amused, until a wolf's howl split the air.  Instantly, Sam's attention was pulled to the direction it came from.  He sighed and glanced back.  “Look, Castiel ...”

The thief was gone ... Sam could hear him crashing through the woods. 

“Thank you very much, Sam!  Tell Dean he ties a wicked knot!” Castiel's voice floated back to Sam.

Sam groaned.  “Damn.  He's going to kill me.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction using characters from the Supernatural universe. I do not claim any ownership. This work is solely for entertainment purposes and is not considered film or tv canon (not by a long shot).

Dean Winchester sat on his mount and watched the sun breach the horizon. He heard a familiar screech and smiled, lifting his arm.  The hawk settled on its perch and regarded Dean with an almost embarrassed expression.  Dean laughed.

“Good morning ... let's go find our angel, shall we?”

* * *

Castiel peered over the rock-strewn ground at the small camp below.  The Bishop's guards milled about.  Castiel decided it would be prudent to be absent from this location soon, so he began a slow backward crawl – until he ran into something that most definitely was not a rock. Looking up in shock, Castiel found himself staring at a guard.  He turned to run but the man clamped vise-like hands on his shoulders and hauled him to his feet.  Keeping a hard grip on one arm, the guard dragged Castiel down into the camp where his hands were tied behind his back.

Lucifer walked out of his tent, regarding the wiry thief.  “Ah ... Castiel ... quite a ways from the sewers, little angel.”  With cold smile, Lucifer jerked Castiel forward until he was staring directly into the blue-eyes wide with fear.  “Where. Is. Winchester?”

“Winchester? Oh ... yes, him.  Large man?  Black horse?” Castiel stalled.  He appeared to consider the matter.  “He was headed South, last I saw of him and that horrid beast.”

One of the guards near Lucifer snickered.  “Then we ride North.”

Castiel regarded the man with disdain.  “It is not polite to assume someone is a liar when you've only just met.”

Lucifer's ice blue eyes flashed.  “Yet you knew we would ... no, we ride South.”

They turned for their horses as Castiel regarded the sky with a bewildered gaze.  “I told the truth, Lord!  How can I learn whatever lesson this world is supposed to teach me when You keep confusing me?”

* * *

Dean rode calmly over the hills following Castiel's tracks.  The hawk glided overhead, riding the thermals and keeping watch.  As they drew abreast of several huts, the hawk fluttered back to Dean's arm.  Dean felt something was out of place and looked among the cluster of dwellings for any sign.  He couldn't see anything.

“I don't like this,” Dean murmured to the hawk.

Castiel had been chained and gagged and he now sat behind Lucifer on his horse.  Twisting with his natural flexibility, Castiel was able to ease his arms over his head and work the gag off.  Lucifer turned, shoving a gloved hand into Castiel's mouth which he promptly bit. Lucifer snarled in pain.

Dean heard the sound and immediately launched the hawk into the air while bringing his crossbow to bear.  The guards, without the element of surprise, were slow to recover and their shots were wide.  Dean grunted as one of the quarrels thunked into his saddle bag.  He mentally hoped the journal was undamaged.

Dean's crossbow could hold two quarrels and he fired them both with deadly accuracy.  Castiel, who'd been thrown off Lucifer's horse, looked around frantically for a weapon of some sort to help.  A large rock was the best that he could manage so he threw it at one of the remaining guards aiming at Dean's unprotected back.  The guard cried out and the arm holding the crossbow jerked upward as it released its missile.  A screech of pain echoed across the valley and Dean looked up, stricken.  The quarrel hit the hawk with a sickening thud.

“ _NO!!”_ Dean roared. 

His attention diverted, Dean did not avoid the other guard's shot and he let out a low cry of pain as the round took him hard in the chest knocking him back in the saddle.  He looked up to see the hawk plummeting to the ground with a mournful cry.  Dean moaned softly, as if the hawk's pain was his.

“Nononono ...”

Castiel pulled his gag free and stared at the falling bird.  It was a sad sight indeed, but the expression of grief on Dean's face had him wondering exactly what the bird meant to him.  A familiar perhaps? Dean did not strike Castiel as a man who practiced dark arts.  He cried out as another rider charged Dean but the man called Winchester was not to be taken down so easily.  As Castiel stared in disbelief, Dean jerked the quarrel from his body and slammed it into the side of the man as he rode past.  The horse took his rider only a few strides away before the body fell from the saddle.

Turning, Dean drew his sword, and his expression was murderous.  Lucifer had drawn his sword, but when he saw Dean's eyes he considered better of his life and rode away, ignoring even Castiel.  Dean did not give chase.  Instead, he rode toward the hawk, which lay limp on the ground.  Castiel followed on foot.

Dismounting from Impala a few feet away, Dean walked slowly forward.  He stabbed his sword into the ground and knelt beside the injured raptor, murmuring softly to it.

“Easy ... easy ... it'll be alright ... dammit, Sam ...no ... please,” Dean whispered.

Castiel watched from Impala's side with some confusion.  He knew the hawk was treasured, but Dean was acting as though it was the most precious being in the world. 

Dean looked up and studied the surrounding hills.  He looked back toward Impala and felt a warm burst of gratitude to see his angel-thief standing there. 

“Cas ... get me a cloth from the saddle bag!” Dean called hoarsely. 

Castiel moved quickly and ran to Dean's side, handing him a worn shirt.  Dean blinked at it, but then thanked Castiel and turned to the bird.

“Don't be afraid ... you'll be fine ... you're going to be just fine,” Dean said softly to the hawk.  Castiel frowned again in confusion at the endearments.  Dean wrapped the hawk in the shirt and gently lifted it from the ground, cradling it tenderly to him.  Turning to Castiel, he said, “Here, take him.”

Castiel nearly fell over backing quickly away.  “Me, Dean?!?”

Dean followed Castiel with a desperate look on his face.  “Cas, you're all I have ... please!”

“But ... but the poor thing is done for ---”

Dean grabbed the front of Castiel's tunic and growled, “Don't say that! Don't _ever_ say that!” He grunted in pain and pressed the hawk into Castiel's unwilling hands.  “Follow the road ... you'll come to a ruined castle.  An old monk lives there ... he goes by Imperius but he was once a smithy named Robert Singer.  Give him the hawk ... he'll know what to do.”

Castiel's fear that Dean was not altogether sane was growing.  He shook his head.  “Dean, I don't think --”

“Get on my horse now, Cas or I'll put you on him myself!” Dean hissed, his green eyes flashing cold and hard.

Castiel mounted Impala reluctantly.  “You're the only one who can ride him! He'll throw me before we've gone a hundred paces!”

Dean ignored the protests and handed Castiel the bundled hawk.  “Careful with him, Cas.” Dean looked up and met the blue eyes that he was so drawn toward.  “If you don't get him there, Castiel ... I will hunt you until I don't have a breath in my body.  I promise you that.”

Castiel swallowed hard, muttering, “Hardly an incentive to get me to do as you wish, Dean.”  He looked down at the hawk that chirped in pain and fear.  His gaze softened.  “There, there ... I won't let go of you ... you're safe.”

Dean blinked, his eyes starting with tears.  He swatted Impala's rump. 

“Go on, Cas ... “ Dean gasped.  He swayed on his feet as he watched the horse and rider disappear down the road.

* * *

Castiel rode with just enough skill not to be unhorsed by Impala's strong gallop.  He cradled the hawk next to him.  As the sun drifted lower in the sky, the temperature dropped and Castiel pulled up his hood. Impala crested a ridge and there, just beyond the next ridge stood the ruins of a castle.

“You see?  There it is ... we'll be there soon,” Castiel said to the hawk.  He gently ran his finger over the bird's head and was rewarded with a savage bite.  Sucking on his now bleeding finger, Castiel frowned at the bird.  “I am not surprised you are an ingrate, you feathered beast – your master certainly doesn't know the meaning of the word.  Well, I've had enough of both of you ... let this Imperius or Robert or whomever deal with you now ... I am done.”

As Impala drew up to the castle, Castiel called out, “Hello!  Hello?!” He sighed.  “For pity's sake – hello!”

“Hello! Hello!  Who is making all the ruckus down there?”  A rough voice shouted down. 

Castiel looked up and an older man wearing a monk's robes and a beard looked down at him.  Castiel thought that he might be drunk.  Nevertheless, he had to do as Dean had directed him.

“I was told to bring you this bird,” Castiel yelled.  “It's been wounded.”

The man squinted down.  “Good shot!  Bring it in, we'll put it over the fire!”

Castiel recoiled in horror.  “We can't eat this bird!”

“Why not ... wait ... is it Lent again, already?” The man slurred.

“No! It belongs to a man named Winchester!”

The man straightened and his eyes grew wide.  “Mother of God ... bring him in!  Bring him in!”

“Lord, humans are strange creatures ... as I am one of them, I should know. This one ... very odd.” Castiel muttered.  The gate at the bridge rose slowly as the monk turned the wheel. 

Castiel dismounted and carefully picked his way through the rocks to the monk.  “Here, here ... bring him this way.  Up here ...” Castiel followed the monk to a rickety bridge.  He halted when the monk threw out an arm.  “Careful ... walk on the left side only.”

The monk led Castiel into the castle proper.  He pointed at a blanket in front of the fire.  Castiel followed his direction and gently lay the hawk down.  The monk knelt beside the bird and murmured at it.  He looked back at Castiel. 

“Leave us now,” He said.

Castiel balked.  “Can I help?”

“Idiot ... go out!” The monk snarled.

Rolling his eyes, Castiel stalked out the door.

The monk once called Robert Singer looked down at the injured beast. “Don't be afraid, Sam ... Dean was right ... I know what to do ...” He thought that the hawk almost looked grateful.  “We have to wait a little longer, boy.  Just a little longer.”

* * *

Castiel watched from his perch as the monk came out of the keep and locked the door behind himself.  He was muttering about different herbs and plants he would need for something.  Castiel watched as he walked down the hill a ways and then he leapt down easily.  Turning to the lock, he studied it for a moment and then withdrew his dagger, slipping the thin point into the keyhold.  “A dubious skill, Lord, but one that does come in handy.”  He shivered as a wolf's howl echoed across the hills.  He couldn't have said why, but the call sounded almost – familiar.

With a click, the lock sprang open and Castiel was able to open the door. Creeping inside, he walked to where he had laid the bird down by the fire.  He stopped cold.  In its place lay the young man that had haunted Castiel's nights of late.

“Sam?”

Suddenly, inexplicably afraid, Castiel turned to go – he'd barely made it to the door when Sam spoke behind him.

“Dean ... is he ...?” Sam's voice was full of pain and fear.

Castiel sighed with one hand on the handle.  Head bowed, he answered.  “He's fine ... Dean is fine.”

Sam fell back with a gasp. Castiel looked back.  “There was a great battle ... he – Dean fought like a lion.”  Sam smiled faintly.  “The hawk ... the hawk was struck ...”

Castiel's voice faded as he saw the quarrel protruding from Sam's chest. Sam gave Castiel a wry grin.

“Yeah ... I know.”

Castiel looked down at the man lying pale beneath the skins.  “Are you flesh or are you spirit?”

Sam regarded Castiel for a moment before he looked at the ceiling.  “I'm more pain than either, Castiel.  And Dean ... Dean is all sorrow and grief.”

Castiel's heart tightened at the mention of Dean and the realization of the burden he carried.  He backed toward the door only to run into the monk, who held the lock in his hand.  He grunted and pushed Castiel out of the room.  “And this time, _stay_ out.”

Castiel did not protest and leaned back against the door sucking in air as though he would never breathe again.  He looked helpless at the sky and felt a harsh tug as a mournful wolf cry split the air.  “Dean ...”

* * *

Robert knelt over Sam with his poultice.  The young man looked back at him with fevered eyes, but there was trust at least in the gold-flecked gaze.  He sighed and spread the concoction around the entry wound.  Sam hissed in pain. 

“Sorry, Sam ... I have to get it out,” the monk whispered.

“I know, Bobby ... it's ok ...” Sam said softly.

The older man blinked down at him.  “You haven't called me that in years ...”

“Yeah, well ... been a little preoccupied lately.” Sam said.  He winced as he heard the wolf howling outside.  “Dean ... he'll never forgive himself for this.”

“Neither will I, boy.  Now ... get ready ...”

Sam inhaled deeply as Bobby took hold of the quarrel.  Bobby started to cover Sam's eyes, but the young man pushed his hand away.  Bobby looked down and realized he was no longer the lanky boy that asked questions about _everything_. He was a man in his own right.  He gave a light grin.

“Idiot.”

He pulled the quarrel free from Sam's chest.  Sam's scream of pain split the air.

* * *

Castiel sat outside in the chill air, listening to the wolf call out.  He knew it was Dean as surely as he knew now that the hawk was Sam. Worst of all, he knew he had wandered right into the middle of a twisted web spun by a man warped by darkness – the Bishop of Aquila.  A man who had taken Castiel's life and shattered it.  What was left sat hugging himself, trying not to feel the boy's pain nor the agony in the heart of a wolf.  He sobbed helplessly to God as Sam's scream tore through him.  He heard the echoing howl of the wolf.

* * *

In Aquila, the Bishop tossed and turned in his bed of silk.  He gripped his chest in pain where he felt as though he had been pierced through.  His entire body was wracked with phantom pain and he wondered what hell had befallen the boy he was bound with.  His hands clawed at the air as thunder rumbled through the skies outside and the agony seemed to multiply in intensity with each passing moment. When Bobby tore the bolt free from Sam's body, the Bishop sat up with a horrified cry.

The door to his private chamber opened and one of the clerics bowed. “Apologies, your grace but Cezar is here.”

A hulking shadow filled the doorway and the stench of death wafted through the room to press against the Bishop's nose.  The man shoved back a hood made from wolfskin and smiled.  His eyes appeared almost yellow in the candlelight.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction using characters from the Supernatural universe. I do not claim any ownership. This work is solely for entertainment purposes and is not considered film or tv canon (not by a long shot).

Castiel closed his eyes in pain as he listened to the wolf doleful cries spill into the night.  It was almost as if the beast were screaming at the moon.  He poured the wine with shaking hands and took the cups down to where Bobby stood, staring into the darkness.

“It's him, isn't it?” Castiel asked.  “The wolf ... it's Dean, isn't it?”

Singer threw back the wine.  “Drink up, thief ... forget.”

Castiel frowned.  “An hour ago you were _drunk_ and you remembered ... “

Singer regarded the younger man for a moment.  Young, but his eyes ... blue and fathomless.  Far too old for his youthful appearance.  He squinted.  “What are you called?”

“Castiel.”

Bobby blinked and stepped back.  “An angel's name ...” He turned and motioned toward the room where Sam slept.  “His name is Samuel Winchester ... you've met his brother Dean.  They are the sons of John, the Marquess of Winchester. Their mother died in a fire and their father died three years ago in Antioch. Dean brought Sam here to study in Aquila, where he was the captain of the guard.” Bobby sighed.  “You've seen them both ... they were sought after by every unattached female and not a few attached ones. Unfortunately, Samuel attracted the attention of the Bishop.”

Castiel choked on his wine.  “The Bishop --?”

“The Bishop became as a man possessed.  He sought every reason imaginable to be near Sam,” Bobby said with a deep frown. “Dean continued to serve with all the loyalty that is in his nature, but he was afraid for his younger brother.  The Bishop's suit was not a welcome one for Samuel.”

Castiel found himself wanting to know more about Dean Winchester, the man with the bewitching green eyes.  He heard the wolf howl again and wiped at his eyes.

“Unfortunately, Dean's loyalty was fractured when the Bishop continued to pursue Sam despite the fact that the boy wasn't interested ... Sam sensed the Bishop's wickedness and he shrank from it.  He sent back letters unopened and poems unread.  The Bishop's lust was not slaked and he desired Sam more and more.  Dean is at his most fearsome when he is protecting his loved ones and he was preparing to take extraordinary measures to protect his brother.   Until ...”

Bobby fell silent and Castiel ran for the wine.  He poured the cup full again and sat down beside the monk.  “Until ... ?”

The man drank deeply and stared into the fire.  “Until they were betrayed.  A weak fool of a priest gave a drunken confession to his superior and revealed the plan to escape the city and the Bishop. The idiot didn't even know what he'd done at first nor what a terrible revenge the Bishop would take.  His Grace ... went mad ... he swore that if he could not have Samuel, no one would have him and the brother that sought to keep him from the Bishop would instead be separated from his sibling.”

Bobby threw his cup into the fire where the clay vessel shattered in a shower of sparks.  Castiel winced.

“The brothers fled the city and the Bishop followed, never more than an hour behind.  He dogged their every turn, wearing them down steadily. Rome had turned its back on the Bishop but he was a powerful man ... he called on the powers of Hell itself for a curse to damn the brothers.  It is said that a man came to him ... a man with yellow eyes ... a man who cast no shadow.  He made a dreadful deal with this man ... and Hell gave him his revenge.  You've seen it with your own eyes, thief,” Singer looked out into the darkness as the wolf howled again.  “By day, Sam is the beautiful bird you brought to me.  And by night, as you already know, the voice of the wolf we hear is the cry of Dean Winchester.  Poor dumb creatures with no memory of the half-life of their human existence.  Brothers, forever apart – the agony of a split second between sunrise and sunset when they can almost touch but not.”

Castiel stared at the old monk.  “Always together ... eternally apart.”

“As long as the sun rises and sets,” Bobby agreed sadly.  “As long as there is day and night and for as long as they both shall live.”

The wolf's sorrowful notes filled the air.  Bobby looked over to the young man.  “You have stumbled into a tragic story, Castiel, thief named of an angel.  Whether you like it or not ... you are part of it with the rest of us.”

* * *

The Bishop flipped through skin after skin of dead wolves.  None of them the one he sought.

“Useless! All of them!” the Bishop yelled.  “Why do you torment me with your foolishness?”

Cezar smiled darkly.  “It pleases me to do so.  You would do well to keep a civil tongue.  Besides, I am simply waiting for the boy to show himself.”  The yellow eyes speared the Bishop.

The Bishop's eyes grew distant as he pictured the object of his desire.  “No boy – now a man ... tall and stately ... delicate features with golden eyes that glow with the light of the sun  -- his sun is the moon.  Samuel ... _my_ Samuel.” The Bishop looked back at the hunter who knew more of his dark secrets than any man living did.  “He travels with Castiel now – and I want that one dead too.  Along with the wolf who calls Samuel brother.  The _black_ wolf.”

“Cezar” watched the Bishop walk away. He was beginning to regret the deals he'd made with this pompous human and thought that perhaps their time together was coming to an end.  After all ... he was Azazel, the yellow-eyed demon of Hell. He would not long suffer the arrogance of a mere human.

* * *

Castiel watched Sam turn in his sleep.  He could understand the Bishop being drawn to the young man – Sam was indeed handsome.  But to desire him so much that one would cast lots with a demon?  It seemed insanity until Castiel's mind wandered over Sam's brother, Dean.  His green eyes haunted Castiel and he shivered with the memory of that deep voice exhorting him to save the hawk – the hawk Castiel now knew was his younger brother.  Castiel's feelings for the elder Winchester were beginning to concern him – they were borne of the duress of the situation no doubt.  Castiel hadn't even had an entire conversation with the man ... how could he possibly be falling in love? 

 _Love? Did I just say 'love'?_ Castiel thought, sitting up in shock.  He glanced upward.  _You continue to confound me, Lord ... You show me the reason for my exile but what can I do to fight such darkness?  Now Dean Winchester fills my every waking thought ... if I was not mad before, I surely will be when this trial is done._

Castiel's thoughts were disturbed as Sam began to groan and waken.  Sam's head turned on the pillow as if he were trying to deny something in his dreams.  Castiel leaned forward as the young man's eyes fluttered open.  Sam grunted and tried to sit up.  Castiel quickly urged him back down on the furs with a gentle hand.

“Easy, Sam ... you will start bleeding again ...”

Sam blew a breath out in frustration before sinking back down.  He winced as he moved his shoulder.  Amber eyes settled on Castiel.  “So ... Castiel the angel ... you are traveling with my brother, aren't you?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes.”

Sam regarded the thief steadily for a moment before turning his gaze back to the ceiling.  His eyes were pained.  Castiel decided to embellish a bit ...

“You must save the hawk, Dean told me.  He's my life ... my last, best hope for living ...” Castiel said softly.

Sam smirked at the ceiling and turned an amused gaze on Castiel.  “Dean ... _my_ Dean said that?  The same Dean who has called me a woman more times than I can count for merely trying to show brotherly _affection_ to him?”

Castiel grinned and gave a shrug.  “It sounded poetic.”

Sam chuckled and then winced as his shoulder pulled.  “You are funny, Castiel the angel.”

“The result of living in such discrepant circumstances, no doubt,” Castiel offered.  “Still, he did mention that he still has hope.”

Sam's eyes suddenly shone with emotion.  “That ... that is good to hear, Castiel.  If anyone deserves to hope for a better life, it is my brother.”

“Is it so horrible to be him?” Castiel asked.

Sam shook his head.  “Dean ... Dean is the strength in our family ... its heart if you will.  He would deny everything I say and whip me with the flat of his sword for even _implying_ that but it is truth.”  Sam sighed and turned his head to meet Castiel's eyes. “Dean is handsome to gaze upon and there is no fiercer warrior in battle but inside ... his soul is the finest stained glass – beautiful but fragile.  He will never consider himself worthy of sacrifice and yet he has done and given _everything_ asked of him.  Look at us now – we are here because he would not leave me to the Bishop.  He would not back down when they finally cornered us. If he could, he would sell his soul to Hell for a way to free me.”

“No!” Castiel cried.  “He _cannot_!”

Sam sighed.  “A cry I have given to heaven more than once, Castiel.  He has tried, I know he has – he would not be Dean Winchester otherwise.  Since we remain as we are, they have not heard his petition, thankfully.  Stoke the fire of that hope, Castiel.” Sam's amber eyes met Castiel's blue.  “Dean trusts you, Castiel. He will listen to you.  Do not let him do anything foolish.”

“I will try, Sam.  I will try.” Castiel murmured.  “Rest now.”

* * *

The thief walked out to where the monk bent over his garden.  “Does he know?”

“What?”

“That you are the priest that betrayed them?”  Castiel explained.

Bobby regarded him and then shrugged.  “It doesn't matter ... God has shown me a way to undo everything.”

“Make yourself plain Robert Singer.”

“I can break the curse!” Bobby exclaimed.  “Dean can confront the Bishop and begin his own true life again.”

“He intends to confront the Bishop,” Castiel said calmly.  “To kill him with the sword of his ancestors.”

“Idiot! He can't do that – if he kills the Bishop the curse can _never_ be broken!”

Any response Castiel may have had was lost when the sound of approaching riders echoed along the hillside.  Singer glanced over and then looked at Castiel.  “Take care of Samuel while I speak with these ... gentlemen.  Go, hurry!”

Singer peered down at the riders – the Bishop's guards.  One of them called up to him.  “Open the door in the name of his holiness the Bishop of Aquila!”

Singer sneered.  “Get out of here – this is a house of God!”

“I said open it in the name of the Bishop!”

“I've met the Bishop,” Bobby yelled down.  “You look nothing like him!”

The guard looked at his men.  “Break it down.”

* * *

Castiel ran to the castle proper where Sam lay.  He shook the man as gently as he could to wake him.  “Sam ... Sam wake up ... come with me.”

“Huh? What is it?” Sam asked drowsily.

“Don't talk, just come with me,” Castiel urged.

* * *

The monk looked down at the guards who had broken through the front gate. They immediately ran into the scaffold ruins of the castle.  When they began to make their way across a rope suspended bridge, Singer calmly cut a line that released one side of the bridge, dumping the men into a pit below.  “Sorry!  Priest!  Not an architect!”

A guard raced by him and over the bridge leading to the main castle doors.  Singer called out, “Remember --- “ The guard  broke through the slats and plummeted into the moat.  “Walk on the left side!”

Bobby stood smiling until the hilt of a sword was brought down on the back of his head.  He fell silent to the ground.

* * *

Castiel and Sam darted through the maze of the ruins trying to find a place to hide.  Sam was tiring because of the blood he'd lost.  Castiel pushed him back down a hallway and up another flight of stairs.  They emerged onto a parapet.

“No no no, Castiel, we can't stay here!  We're trapped!” Sam exclaimed.

“I don't think we have much choice, Sam!” Castiel said as the trapdoor leading to the stairs burst open.  Leaping forward, Castiel landed on the door with all his weight, pushing it shut.  The guard below shoved upward again and Castiel was almost bucked off.  Sam added his weight and Castiel was able to get the latch slid into place.  Sam stepped back to the edge of the platform and Castiel crouched hesitantly on top of the door.  “I think maybe --”

Castiel's words broke off as a sword blade came through the slats in the door. Startled, Castiel leapt off the door and stumbled backwards into Sam. Sam's thighs slammed into the stone railing and he windmilled frantically before going over with a shout.  Turning, Castiel dove and was just able to grab Sam's hands.  The two men clung together desperately as Sam struggled to get his long legs to the edge of the tower for some purchase. 

“Castiel! I'm slipping!” Sam yelled.  Sweat-slickened hands fought to keep hold of the thief’s grip.  One hand broke free and Sam's eyes widened in fear.  “Castiel!”

“I'm trying ... Sam!  Hold on!  Please hold on!” Castiel cried.  He pulled back, trying to pull Sam up.  The young man was far too heavy.

Sam was holding onto Castiel's hand with his injured arm.  He felt the pain radiating out from his wound and the strength seems to slip out of the muscle.  With sharp cry, Sam's fingers slid out of Castiel's hand and he fell.

Castiel felt Sam's arm shake with the strain of trying to hold on and then the young man was falling ... plummeting to the Earth and nothing Castiel could do would stop that.  He screamed as if the sound of his voice would halt what was happening.  Then his eyes met Sam's and even though his long frame was still writhing in the empty space between the parapet and the ground, there was a soft sort of peace in those amber eyes.  As if he knew something that Castiel did not.

The sun burst over the ridge and long fingers of light enveloped Sam – and then suddenly it wasn't Sam.  The golden hawk screeched as long wings beat against the pull of the world itself.  Feathers jarred loose and fluttered unheeded to the ground as the hawk managed to right itself and catch a thermal.  It rose as though it were ascending to heaven.  Castiel thought he'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life.  The hawk called out as it wheeled overhead and flew out into the hills.  Castiel sagged against the stone wall and sobbed.

His grief was cut short as a thumping sound came from behind him and he watched the trap door vibrate with repeated blows from below.  He quickly cast about for a hiding place.

* * *

The guard finally managed to break the latch on the trap door and spring upward onto the parapet.  He spun around looking for either of the men he _knew_ had escaped here.  There was no where else for them to go – he stood confused until he heard the soft patter of disturbed gravel.  He ran to the edge of the stone rail and peered over.  The thief sat there, straddling an outcropping next to an elaborate gargoyle. 

“You! Where is the man?”

Castiel sighed.  “He flew away.”

The guard raised his sword.  “Where is he!?”

Castiel covered his head.  “God's truth – he _flew away_!” 

Castiel cringed as the sword began its downward arc.  Instead of a strike, however, Castiel heard a hiss and a faint grunt of pain.  Looking up, he saw the guard transfixed by a crossbow quarrel.  The man's lifeless body fell past Castiel's perch to crash into the ground below in a tangle of battered limbs and dented armor.  He looked around in shock and then saw his savior.

Dean Winchester stood on a rock outcropping.  His strong legs were braced over a fissure and he held his crossbow easily in one hand.  Even from the distance, Castiel thought he was the most handsome man he'd ever seen in his life.  He shyly raised his hand and waved.  Dean did not gesture back, but Castiel got the distinct feeling Dean was pleased.  He looked upward with a shaky smile.

“It always pays to tell the truth, Lord – thank you.  I see that now.” Castiel muttered.  He carefully began to climb back over the parapet edge.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction using characters from the Supernatural universe. I do not claim any ownership. This work is solely for entertainment purposes and is not considered film or tv canon (not by a long shot).

As dawn slowly broke over the horizon, Singer sat at the base of the keep near the bridge and watched the man in black ride slowly up the rocky trail leading to the castle. It had been two years since he last laid eyes on the man and the expression on his face was no more welcoming today than it had been then. Then, Dean was cursing him to every hell he ever knew for betraying them to the Bishop. Singer had actually wept when he learned of the curse laid on the brothers – Dean was living his hell. So was Singer – a monk without a church and trapped in the knowledge that he had left two innocents defenseless against evil. These memories flared fresh and painful as the elder Winchester approached eyes narrow and focused on the monk.

Impala, Dean's trusted steed, seemed to regard Singer with wariness as well. Bobby shook his head ruefully. The stallion had carried both brothers when they fled Aquila. Singer had been present when Dean's father had given the yearling to the boy. It had been one of the few times Bobby had seen joy in Dean's eyes. He'd taken to caring for the beast immediately and as a result, the damn horse answered to no one but him.

Singer sighed, thinking about the boys' father. John Winchester had been a distracted parent at best but he truly loved his sons. He'd tried to raise them with all the knowledge he'd spent his life gathering – Sam had inherited his father's curiosity and drive to know along with a sweet spirit that often left others to consider him weak - but Sam Winchester was far from weak. His older brother had seen to that - Sam was schooled in as many forms of fighting as Dean. Before the curse, he'd rarely used them but the skills were there for him to call upon.

Dean had more of his mother in him – fiercely loyal and capable of an all-encompassing love of such depth it often left the young man easily wounded by those around him. Singer knew his own betrayal had all but crushed Dean, unintentional though it was. And he knew that Sammy's fate weighed heavily on Dean's heart - he was not one to share any burden. It was now time to remedy that. When Impala came to a stop, Dean regarded the man for a moment before speaking. The hawk perched calmly on his arm where it always did.

"I thought you might have been dead, old man," Dean growled. "There were certainly enough times I wanted to kill you myself but ... I'm grateful. For this."

Dean raised his arm and watched the hawk flutter its wings in irritation – but at least it was able to move. Dean smiled down at the bird. Singer pushed himself upright, wincing as joints complained. Dean turned back to him.

"No, boy, it is I who should be grateful," Singer began. "I have the chance to redeem my fool self and to save you and Samuel. God has told me how the curse may be broken."

Dean stared at Singer for a long moment before he spoke. "I won't be betrayed by you again, old man, I warn you."

The monk smiled, ignoring for the moment that Dean insisted on calling him 'old man'. "In three days, the Bishop will hear the confession of the clergy in the cathedral in Aquila. All you have to do, Dean, is confront him – both of you as brothers, in the flesh, and the curse will be broken!" The look of joy on the monk's face caused a bitter taste to settle in Dean's mouth. "Both of you will be free!"

Dean's face remained impassive as he regarded the monk. The man who had betrayed the Winchester brothers and left them helpless before a curse that had shattered their lives. "Impossible."

"As long as there is a day and a night, no – but in three days in Aquila there will be a day without a night and a night without a day."

Dean looked down at the hawk and when his eyes met Singer's again, they were blazing with barely controlled anger. "Go back to the bottle, Bobby."

Singer's face turned red with fury. "Idiot! You think I'm drunk?! I swear, God has shown me ... He has forgiven me!"

"Forgiven you? No … He hasn't _forgiven_ you … He's made you mad!" Dean looked down at the old man with growing pity mixed with despair. His hope, however brief, had still flared over the man's words. Now, listening to what could be construed as nothing less than insanity, hope died again. "I don't sleep any more that I don't dream about Sammy's eyes the first time he changed – he was terrified out of his _mind._ I can't even remember what a night sky _looks_ like, Bobby! And how pale is Sam nowadays? He hasn't seen the sun in _two years_ … hasn't read a book other than our father's journal … hasn't had a conversation with another living person beyond the last few days with you and Cas! So don't spout your demented ramblings about redemption at me!" Bobby looked up into the hazel-green eyes and saw the death of his chance at redemption. Worse, he saw the death of whatever precious bit of hope Dean had left. He stumbled back, too stunned at Dean's rejection to speak.

Castiel had been hovering behind a partially fallen wall while the two spoke. He could hear the unbridled joy in Bobby's voice and the desolation in Dean's. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to hold that handsome face in his hands and assure Dean it would be alright in the end. He wanted to beg him not to give up hope ... he wanted to show Dean that he was worth saving ... worth loving. Castiel swallowed hard and darted out from behind the wall.

"Um ... sir! Sir!" Castiel shouted as he raced to follow Dean. He pressed his hand on Bobby's arm as he ran by, urging him to wait.

Dean looked down into the damnably blue eyes of his thief companion. What he saw reflected there startled him but he smiled anyway. The brilliant smile that broke across Castiel's face made Dean's heart pound harder in his chest.

"How's the arm, captain?" Castiel asked casually, grasping at thin conversation straws.

Dean looked down at his arm, then at Castiel and sighed. "Cas ... I'm in your debt."

"Me? No, no ... not at all," Castiel replied modestly. He blushed at Dean's intense gaze and hoped his body didn't betray the very unchristian thoughts he suddenly had. "Um ... Sam ... he wanted me to deliver a message – he wanted you to know he still has hope. He still has faith in you."

_I know, Lord … I promised no more lying. But he won't even open his heart to the possibility if I can't persuade him otherwise._ Castiel offered a quick prayer. _Besides, I'm sure Sam thinks that._

Dean blinked rapidly. He looked down at the hawk and then at Castiel. "You're free to go."

"I know that, sir." Castiel replied with a smile.

"Do what you want," Dean smirked.

"Yes sir," Castiel grinned. He glanced down the road and then back at Dean. "Will you and … I hate calling him just 'hawk'. If he were a woman I would say 'Ladyhawke' … "

Dean chuckled. "My brother is certainly as _sensitive_ as a lady, but I think even he might protest such a name. You already know our curse … 'Sam' will do."

Castiel smiled and lowered his eyes. When his blue eyes slid up to Dean's again, the elder Winchester found it suddenly hard to breathe. He cleared his throat roughly and glared at the hawk as it pecked his hand.

"And, yes, Cas ... we're going to Aquila," Dean said softly.

"As it turns out, I seem to headed in that general direction myself ..." Castiel offered, looking out along the road.

Dean blinked, he could not explain the sudden lightness in his chest at those words. "Really?" Dean looked at the hawk and then turned back to Castiel, his features carefully schooled. "Then go grab your gear, Cas – I'm leaving."

Castiel burst into a smile that Dean found himself wanting to see more often. He ran off to the castle to gather his belongings. Dean looked down at the hawk. It regarded him with impassive amber eyes.

"Don't look at me like that, Sammy. He's … he's just a pest and thief ... oh stop it," The hawk had gone back to irritably nipping at his gloved hand with its sharp beak. "Do it again and I _will_ start calling you 'Ladyhawke." The hawk flapped its wings and Dean could have sworn it glared at him. He began guiding Impala down the incline heading for the main road. He continued to murmur to the hawk. "Besides, Sammy … he deserves … he – well he certainly doesn't deserve _me_. No one does."

"Singer!" Castiel called as he darted by the monk. "I'm leaving with the captain ... follow us!"

* * *

As the unlikely pair traveled along toward Aquila, Castiel breached the topic of the curse again. "Dean ... if Singer is right ... and you could break the curse – appear before the Bishop as brothers ..."

Dean reigned in Impala and glared down at Castiel. "Cas, I don't want to hear another word about it – I'm done! Don't mention it to me and you had best not mention it to Sam, do you understand me?"

Castiel nodded and fell silent. Dean regretted his anger but he was done with spells and chants and amulets that did not work. He knew only one way to end this pain ... killing the man that had trapped Sam in a half-life and hidden him from the sun. Dean would kill the Bishop and that would be an end to it. He would have vengeance.

Thunder rolled through the air as Castiel rode Impala while Dean walked alongside with the hawk carefully perched on his arm. The bird was restless with the impending storm. Castiel looked up.

"It's going to be a big one, Dean ... we're going to get soaked."

Dean glanced up and nodded. "You're right ... here, take him and find shelter. The sun is going down soon."

Castiel frowned. "How can you tell?" The dark clouds concealed the sun.

"After this many sunsets, trust me, Cas – I know." Dean said softly. He handed the hawk over to Castiel carefully. "Take care of Sam ... tell him – well, he knows."

Castiel looked down at Dean from the saddle. "I'll tell him anyway, Dean."

Dean nodded and looked up into the fierce blue eyes. They stayed transfixed for a moment and then Dean wrenched his gaze away. "Go on ... get under cover before the storm breaks."

Castiel reluctantly rode away and Dean watched them disappear into the wood. He sighed. His heart thrilled every time Castiel said his name. He found himself wondering just how it would feel to pull that lithe body into his arms. Dean could not help but drink in every detail of the hapless thief from whatever angle he could - atop Impala or walking the ground just behind Castiel's leg as he sat on the horse. The dark hair, the gem-blue eyes ... and that mouth. Dean absently dragged his tongue along his bottom lip when he thought about kissing Castiel's mouth. He thought he saw his own attraction mirrored in the cerulean gaze but he couldn't be sure and he wouldn't make an advance without certainty. Dean knew all too well how serious a mistake _that_ could be.

His life had been something of a curse even before the Bishop's revenge. It was considered an affront to God to covet the attentions of another man. Not even Dean's father had suspected his son's unnatural bent – Sam knew. Singer knew because he had been Dean's confessor. Neither of them had judged him and had, in fact, helped him hide his assignations. To be discovered would most likely mean Dean's death. Still, that added a hint of danger to the trysts which Dean thrived on. Sam had warned him more than once to be careful, but in the end it was the desire of a man Dean would _never_ have suspected that had brought them low. Dean's lip curled into a snarl as he thought about facing the Bishop and exposing his base and evil ways. It would bring Dean great pleasure to destroy the man before he killed him. His thoughts ran back to Castiel and Dean leaned heavily on a nearby tree as he regarded the path his companion had taken.

_Cas … why did God bring you to me now?_ Dean thought miserably.

A familiar heaviness passed through Dean's frame and he groaned as the change began. Running deeper into the wood, Dean began pulling his clothes off. He'd learned early that the change was easier if he was in motion. The magic of the curse built within him until he felt as though he would burst into a thousand pieces. Dean felt his mind sliding away no matter how hard he struggled to keep hold of it ... it was harder and harder to form human thoughts. The wolf was taking over and Dean was slipping into the haze of instinct and sensation. As the sun eased below the horizon, hidden by the storm, Dean Winchester vanished between one stride and the next. A black wolf with luminous green eyes continued on into the woods at a run.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction using characters from the Supernatural and Ladyhawke universe. I do not claim any ownership. This work is solely for entertainment purposes and is not considered film or tv canon (not by a long shot).

Castiel looked around the barn he'd chosen for their night's shelter. It was nothing fancy, but it was dry at least. The hawk regarded him steadily.

"Are you hungry, Sam?" Castiel asked, leaning close to the raptor but not so close as to get his eye pecked out. "Do you even understand me, Sam? Do you understand Dean when _he_ talks to you? For all I know, you could be carrying on lengthy debates with Impala whilst our backs are turned!"

The hawk chirped calmly and settled its wings. Castiel gently stroked the bird's breast and then let his fingers travel down the wings. The feathers lay neatly as they should. He felt a quick pang.

"You care for your wings as a good hawk should, Sam. Do not take them for granted - there are those who would clip your wings and then you would be trapped in day and in night," Castiel murmured. "Never let them take your wings, Sam ... "

Shaking himself from his grim reverie, Castiel sighed. He looked at the bird. "I have had hawk before ... it was chewy and gamey. Not much of a delicacy, but filling."

The hawk did not react and Castiel's shoulders dropped.  He walked over to the barn entrance and watched the rain soak the land. He sighed again. "Serves me right for getting involved in this nightmare ... _night_ mare ... no, day-mare ... day without night and night without day? What does that even mean, Sam? No wonder your brother doesn't want to hear about it – perhaps Singer _is_ mad ... none of this makes any sense!"

The hawk began to chirp and flutter its wings frantically. Castiel glanced out and the sky seemed even darker and it was not all from the clouds. "Sunset ... I should let you change in peace ... I'll just stand out here ..." Castiel stepped outside but stayed just under the eaves of the barn. Villagers dressed in their best homespun ran to get inside out of the rain. He noticed a wagon, bedecked with flowers and greenery – Castiel guessed a wedding was taking place. Packages and bundles were being placed in the wagon and carefully covered. Castiel had a sudden idea. Looking back at the hawk, he held his hands up. "Wait, Sam! Just wait a moment!"

Running into the deluge, Castiel ducked his head and went quickly to the wagon. Looking around to ensure he wasn't observed, Castiel sorted through the items in the wagon and pulled out two bundles.

 _I know, Lord. Stealing ... eighth on the list ... but without it, Sam will be naked. Even Adam and Eve got animal skins, Lord,_ Castiel prayed. He smiled up at the sky but only the storm answered him.

Holding his prize close to his body, Castiel splashed back to the barn and pushed the door open. He separated the bundles and walked over to the hawk. It was crying restlessly. Castiel put the clothes over a nearby support and said, "I cannot vouch for the fit, Sam but fortunately the groom looks to be a giant like you. Take your time!"

With that, Castiel left the barn and shut the doors. It was nothing to him to see a naked man but he had no idea how modest Sam Winchester might be so it was better to err on the side of caution. He pulled his own soiled clothes off and changed into the ones he'd procured. Once finished he glanced up at the sky and listened at the barn door. It should have been long enough, so Castiel tapped on the wood.

"Sam! I'm coming in!" Castiel announced, pushing on the door.

He entered the warm barn, filled with the comfortably familiar scents of animals and hay. His eyes settled on the tall young man stepping out from behind one of the stalls. Sam grinned easily and plucked at his shirt.

"You?" At Castiel's nod, Sam chuckled. "Thanks."

Sam looked around the barn musing on all the many strange places he'd awakened in over the past few years. He looked over at Castiel again.

"How's Dean?"

Castiel cleared his throat. "He's alive, like you ... full of hope, like you. He ... he left you in my charge."

Sam leaned against one of the support pillars and looked at Castiel. His mouth twitched with barely controlled mirth. "Oh he did, did he?"

Castiel nodded gravely. "He said – tell Samuel we two speak as one and he will follow your instructions as my own."

Sam looked at Castiel somberly and then he burst into laughter. Castiel pursed his lips in annoyance but after a moment, Sam's infectious humor had him laughing as well. Sam wiped at his eyes as he calmed himself.

"Castiel the angel, you are the funniest person I've met in ... well, ever, I suppose," Sam said.

Sam turned with a last snicker and looked at Impala, who was stabled and groomed. He smiled and ran his hand down the stallion's mane. "Hello, Impala," Sam whispered. There was no humor in his eyes as he looked over to Castiel and asked, "He's taking us back to Aquila, isn't he?"

Impala nickered softly and bumped his head against Sam's shoulder. Castiel rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. Sam sighed and pulled his hand down over his face in frustration.

"Damn it, Dean ..." Sam muttered. He looked at the barn's roof and sighed. "So, Castiel the angel ... what do you instruct?"

The strains of the wedding celebration drifted across from the main house to the barn. Castiel turned to listen for a moment before looking back at Sam.

"I instruct you to sit by a warm fire ... to have a cup of wine and ... to listen to bright music cheerfully played. Perhaps dance." Castiel grinned.

Sam shook his head. "You are ... different, Castiel. I see why my brother likes you ... why he trusts you."

Castiel blushed. "Your brother is ... he is a man that many would put their faith in – I can see how he rose to captain of the guard so quickly."

Sam nodded. "Dean is a leader, no matter how much he will protest that he is not. His men would follow him anywhere and in battle ... Castiel, there is no more awe-inspiring sight than to see my brother, sword in hand, cutting a swathe through his enemies."

"You love him a great deal, Sam," Castiel observed.

"He is the reason I am _here_ instead of serving the twisted lust of an evil man," Sam said softly, kicking at the straw beneath his feet. "He thinks he has failed me but this half-life is still better than the no-life I would have had as the Bishop's toy. Dean will always take the brunt of the blame in any situation. Our father ... he did not mean it so, but he laid a heavy burden on my brother when our mother died. I was but an infant ... father gave me to Dean and told him to run, to take care of me and keep me safe. Dean has been doing that ever since." Sam sighed. "I am too much like my father and we argued often. He loved Dean, I know that ... but he never truly _saw_ Dean. My brother is an amazing man, Castiel and our father never knew that ... he never saw the utter devotion that his eldest son gave him without question."

Castiel regarded Sam sadly. "I suppose it is well that you see him, Sam. He is fortunate to have you in his life."

Sam looked up with a smile. "We are both fortunate to have you in our lives, Castiel. Shall I show you something?"

Castiel nodded. Sam went to Impala's saddle bags and pulled the thick leather-bound journal. Castiel looked at it curiously when Sam handed it to him. "I saw this ... when I was getting ... when you were hurt."

Sam smiled. "It was my father's. He wrote down everything he knew in this journal. It was his most precious possession. Dean and I grew up traveling from city to city as he sought knowledge. We never stayed any place too long ... father would talk to scholars and they would tell him of other places to seek what he wanted to know. Dean raised me for the most part."

Sam turned the pages to the middle of the book. Castiel looked at the writing and the drawings. They were in a child's hand – deliberately formed letters and sketches that were not always clear, but were painstakingly colored. "Your work?"

Sam shook his head. "Dean." He pointed to a lopsided circle with many little lines filling it until it looked like a web. Each tiny space was colored in with ink. "We were in Paris. That is the north rose window at Notre-Dame – Dean's version, anyway." He pointed to a few fearsome looking creatures shaded with dark lines. "Those are the gargoyles – he liked them a great deal."

Castiel smiled at the drawings. He could picture a young Dean, tongue sticking out as he carefully drew and colored in his father's journal. Castiel could almost see the hazel eyes focused with the eyebrows scrunched in concentration as he tried to make his entry perfect. He frowned slightly at the large ink splotch near the bottom of the page. He pointed to it. "It would appear he knocked over the inkwell."

Sam's eyes grew sad again and he sighed, running his fingertips over the stain. "He did ... when my father caught him writing in the journal and punished him."

Castiel blinked in shock. "But ... _why_?"

"He did not think Dean a scholar ... he thought he was mocking his life's work. Dean was trying to do what nearly every son tries to do – he wanted to be like his father. Dean was nine ... I was five but I remember that day very clearly. I helped him remember the details of what we had seen so he could draw them. After father ... Dean never touched the journal again unless commanded. He never looked at the statues again and he never regarded the colors of the world again. My father was a soldier as well as a scholar and he taught Dean a great deal. Dean surpassed him before his fifteenth year. He would have been with him in Antioch, but father left him behind. I suspect he intended him to watch over me, as usual." Sam looked down at the pages as he turned them slowly. "Dean came here alone because I wanted to stay at school. After father died, Dean came and took me away. I was not ... gracious about it."

"You were ... _are_ ... a young man, Sam. It is only natural that you rebel." Castiel offered.

"Perhaps. It wasn't until all this darkness descended that I began to see my brother for who he truly is ... and now I understand my brother's heart and what he gave up for me." Sam looked at Castiel directly. "I think that my brother has taken to you, Castiel. If you do not wish to return his feelings ... do not lead him on. He deserves better than that."

Castiel swallowed and his blush returned. He did not know what to say, so he looked back to the journal. A few pages past Dean's entry he found a sketch of the two brothers. Sam was reading and Dean sat beside him, dagger in hand looking out to the distance. The elder Winchester's expression was the same as he carried now – grim and focused. Gone was the child who had once drawn a pretty window. Sam nodded.

"I think father knew what he had done in anger, but it was too late to take it back," Sam explained.

"I do ... I do care about your brother, Sam. But ... we hardly know one another so I cannot say ... I do not know where this will lead," Castiel said softly. "But I will tread carefully."

Sam nodded. He carefully closed the journal and put it back in the saddlebag. "You mentioned something about wine and dancing, Castiel the angel?"

Castiel laughed. "Indeed I did, Winchester the younger."

Together, the two walked out the barn door intending to run to the main house. They walked directly into the side of a horse laden with wolf-skins. Sam drew up short with a shout.

" _NO!"_ The voice that emerged from Sam was deepened with fear, but it was no boy that cried out ... it was a man with a man's anger. "No! What ... what _is_ this ... who are you ...?"

"Sam!" Castiel said urgently, trying to calm the young man down. "Sam! Get inside ... go! Get inside the barn!"

Castiel shoved Sam hard and the tall frame finally relented and he went back inside. Putting himself between the barn door and the rider and his pack horse, Castiel raised Dean's sword. He'd picked it up as they left to cross the yard. The man on the horse smiled and his eyes seemed to glimmer with a sick yellow hue.

"Sam? _Ah_ – Sammy boy," the man murmured.

"If you lay one hand on him, you will find it on the ground next to your _head_!" Castiel snarled, brandishing the sword. He vaguely wondered where inside himself this savage bravado had emerged from. "Ride on!"

"Easy, little man," the rider mocked. "You're frightening me."

"Are you _deaf?"_ Castiel yelled. "Ride on!"

The man laughed and guided his horses down the lane and off into the wood. Castiel chased him, lugging the heavy sword. He was still shouting.

"If you turn around, you're dead!"

The man laughed more loudly and disappeared into the night. Castiel sighed and turned to walk back to the barn. He was stunned to see the doors open and Sam ride out into the darkness on Impala. As Sam rode past Castiel, he leaned over in the saddle and snatched the sword from the thief's hands. Then he straightened and followed the wolf-hunter's path. Castiel stood in the rain and the dark long after the sound of hooves had faded away.

"Dean is going to kill me. He is going to kill me and cut me into very tiny pieces, Lord," Castiel said to himself. He looked up at the night sky. "This has to be the worst night _ever_!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction using characters from the Supernatural/Ladyhawke universe. I do not claim any ownership. This work is solely for entertainment purposes and is not considered film or tv canon (not by a long shot).

Sam rode Impala into the wood, following the trail of the hunter. His heart was pounding in his chest. He hadn't seen a black wolf pelt in the pile that had covered the horse's saddle but he was not going to stop until he made sure. Besides, Sam had an uneasy feeling it was no coincidence that a wolf hunter with that many pelts was in this part of the wood.

Seeing the hunter's mounts, Sam reigned in Impala and slid off to the ground. He held the sword before him as Dean had taught him. He moved silently over the leaf-strewn ground. The recent rain had muddied the scents of the wood but Sam thought he could easily track anyone with such horrid body odor.

The hunter watched the tall man moving between the trees and he smiled, remembering the Bishop's words.

... _**tall and stately ... delicate features with golden eyes that glow with the light of the sun ... look for the black wolf that calls him brother ...**_

Azazel watched the boy with eyes that reflected a demon's heart. The boy was indeed a beautiful sight but he found the soul burning behind his golden eyes far more enticing. Azazel wondered how long it would be before the Bishop's attentions tarnished that bright and wonderful orb. He knew the elder brother had visited a crossroads demon to try and confound the curse. Of course he was denied because Azazel wished it so ... still he wondered if what it would take to collect the Winchester brothers' souls. A dark smile crossed the demon's human face.

Sam turned when he thought he heard a twig snap. He strained his ears for any other sound and then another twig broke nearby.

"Show yourself, coward!" Sam yelled.

Laughter echoed through the mist filled woods. "Frightened, boy?"

"I'm not frightened of a pointless use of air such as yourself," Sam snarled. "Show yourself, oh killer of innocent creatures."

"Innocent? _Innocent_?" Azazel laughed. "I doubt the villager whose baby was _eaten_ last winter would call these beasts innocent!"

Sam pursed his lips. "That you kill one or two is logical ... but this? This is a slaughter!"

"Ah, but the Bishop pays so very well, boy," Azazel taunted.

"The Bishop? What does he have to do with this ... no! He is trying to find ... "Sam broke off, realizing he had walked into a trap of a different sort. This man knew who he was and was no doubt under orders to bring him back to the Bishop. Sam remembered the eerie, inhuman yellow eyes – it was rumored that a demon had given the Bishop the ability to curse himself and Dean. Sam's blood ran cold and he began to walk backwards toward Impala.

"Ah, Samuel ... you are a quick one, at that. What a waste to give you to that twisted man," Azazel said, his voice drifting into Sam's thoughts. "Perhaps ... perhaps you'd rather come with me ... end this nightmare for your brother, Dean ... "

Sam blinked. The demon's voice was soft ... his offer compelling. Sam found it hard not to listen even though what it was offering was no less than damnation. He shook his head.

"Silence, hell-spawn – and yes, I know that you are the creature that granted the Bishop this travesty of power." Sam said. He gripped the sword tightly, turning slowly in place, trying to pinpoint the voice's origin. "You _are_ a coward, then?"

Azazel stepped out into the open. Sam inhaled sharply at the yellow eyes that regarded him with an unspeakable knowledge of what lay in the very pit of Hell. He took a step back and froze when the demon's voice raised in a hiss.

"Careful, boy ... you must step lightly in these woods. You never know when you might find something you don't want ..." Azazel said with a grin. The grin widened as they heard the snap of a trap and the pained yelps of a dying wolf.

Sam's heart seemed to grow cold in his breast as he heard the beast die. He could not know if it was Dean or not. The hunter ... demon, rather ... had disappeared and Sam moved cautiously after him. Coming into a faint clearing, Sam saw the man opening a trap to remove the dead wolf. The pelt was dark, but not dark enough to be Dean. Sam felt his breath return to shriveled lungs and he pulled his dagger from his belt. The man stayed hunched over as he reset the trap. Sam heard a warning growl behind him and turned to see an emerald-eyed wolf standing, hackles up and teeth bared.

"Dean ..." Sam whispered.

"The black wolf, eh, little Sammy?" Azazel said.

Sam did not waste his time wondering. He turned and threw his dagger. It struck the wolfhunter/demon square in the chest, throwing him off-balance and into the trap he'd just reset. There was an inhuman screech and Sam stared. He could have sworn he saw a dark, smoke-like shape emerge from the body twitching in the trap, but he couldn't be sure in the dark. The man in the trap was dead now but Sam wondered – had he killed a demon or just the body of the poor sap it possessed?

Castiel ran through the trees just then, his breath coming in short gasps. "Sam!"

The wolf that was Dean had disappeared into the woods. Sam stood staring at the body in front of him and winced when he heard the desolate howl drift through the mist. "What did I do, Dean?"

Castiel looked at the man in the trap. "You did what you had to, Sam." He looked up at the younger Winchester.

"He ... his eyes were _yellow_ , Castiel. _Yellow_ ... I think ... I think he was a demon ..."

Castiel regarded the body. "Perhaps ... the Bishop's deal is not known but to curse you both the way he did ... it would not be a surprise."

Sam looked at Castiel in shock. "You ... you do not think I have committed murder?"

Castiel stood and looked around. Picking up a handful of rocks, he began tossing them into the leaves surrounding them. One by one, a circle of traps was revealed. Sam blinked with each heavy metallic snap. When he was done, Castiel brushed off his hands and met Sam's eyes.

"You did what you had to do, Sam. If you had stepped into any one of those, you would have been at his mercy. God forbid you had tripped and fallen into one as he did. If it was the demon ... you saved this poor soul from further torture. I doubt he would lay blame at your feet." Castiel said. "The Bishop is the one who called the imps of Hell for his revenge ... the Bishop is the one who will pay for his sins."

Sam sighed. "I want to go now, Castiel. Somewhere else ... _anywhere_ else."

Castiel nodded and they walked back to where Impala was hitched. The rain had finally stopped.

* * *

Early the next morning, Castiel lay curled into a ball on a branch of evergreen he'd laid down as a mat of sorts. Sam had a similar bed nearby. They'd walked until Sam declared them far enough away from the mist-laden woods. It was a makeshift camp, but it was enough for the night. Castiel was exhausted after the night's events and he did not even register when his bed began to move.

Dean had awakened to a cold world. He sniffed the air and knew snow was coming soon. He sighed and dressed quickly before building a campfire. Looking down at the sleeping thief he'd decided that a good breakfast was in order. He was not hungry and wondered if somewhere in the wood the wolf had taken down a deer. It sometimes did and occasionally Dean would awaken with blood on his lips or a savaged carcass lying nearby. He was far past being distressed about it.

After a moment longer of watching the man sleep and trying not to imagine him asleep in an actual bed beside him, Dean went to the river with his crossbow. Carefully sighting along the quarrel, Dean fired once, twice and came up with two fat fish. He smiled and went back to the fire. After cleaning and spitting the fish, Dean dragged the branch Castiel lay on to the fireside. He waited and after a moment, a sleepy Castiel opened his blue eyes to the world. Dean looked away trying to hide the way his breath caught in his throat.

"Good morning," Dean said gruffly. "You looked ... pale ... I thought you could use a good meal."

Castiel rose and stretched stiffly. "Oh what a night ..."

Dean looked over as he turned the fish. "What happened?"

"Oh ... nothing I couldn't handle, captain," Castiel said with a faint smile.

_Captain?_ Dean wondered. _What aren't you telling me, Cas?_

The hawk called overhead and Dean smiled. He stood and raised his arm in anticipation of the bird's morning greeting. Instead, the hawk flew past him to land on Castiel's arm. The thief started and looked at the hawk in alarm.

"Uh ... willful little bird, isn't he? Go on ... go to your master ... Sam ... _go on,_ " Castiel pleaded.

The hawk did not move and Dean raised an eyebrow. "So tell me about last night, Cas."

"What's to tell?" Castiel said, shaking his arm lightly. "We ran into a bit of trouble on the way to an inn ... go on, you stubborn beast ... go!"

"An inn?" Dean said, alarmed. "You took Sam to an inn?"

"Well, after a stop at a stable," Castiel continued. He looked at the bird miserably. "Would you _go_?"

"A stable? What the hell were you doing together in a stable?" Dean snapped.

"Nothing! We changed clothes!" Castiel cried nervously. "Not together of course!"

Dean stared at the rapidly protesting man. If Castiel had been paying attention, he would have noticed the way Dean's eyes were crinkling at the edges. Dean did not think Castiel would attempt anything untoward with Sam. Nor did he think that Sam incapable of stopping the thief if he did, but it was fun to tease the anxious man.

"You left Sam _alone_?" Dean snarled, making his voice as angry as he could.

"No!" Castiel pleaded.

"So you _did_ change clothes!" Dean accused.

"Take him!" Castiel shouted and handed the fluttering hawk off to Dean. The elder Winchester took the raptor and turned to hide his amused grin.

Castiel walked away to the fire before pausing and looking back at Dean. "Your brother ... he's grown into quite a wise young man. I think you would enjoy his company these days." Castiel paused. "I won't lie ... well, not about this anyway ... I do happen to find ... men ... males ... attractive. And your brother is a very handsome young man."

Dean bristled. The joke was suddenly not so funny. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Castiel. The man had regained a bit of his composure and he met Dean's eyes. "I can see easily why the Bishop desired him, but he is not the Winchester I am drawn to – do with that what you will." Castiel sighed. "Besides ... all he did was talk about his beloved older brother. He admires you and looks up to you a great deal, Dean. He is a good man."

Dean blinked. He glanced at the hawk and then looked back at Castiel, his shoulders relaxing. "Every minute you spend with him, Cas ... I envy you. I miss my little brother more than you know. He ... I used to think he was such a pest ... now I'd even put up with his snoring if he was just here again."

Castiel chuckled. "I'm not sure how you miss that noise, but I understand, Dean. I miss ... I miss my family too. But none of them know where I am and I'm not so sure they would care regardless."

Dean looked at Castiel. "I don't know how anyone could _not_ miss you, Cas. I certainly would ... if you weren't here for whatever reason."

Castiel blushed and Dean walked over to him after setting the hawk on a nearby branch. "You can tell me, Cas – tell me what Sam said ... but ... the truth. I will know if the words are his."

"He talked ... he talked about your father ... he showed me the journal. Sam was sad when he spoke about your childhood."

Dean swallowed hard. He hadn't spoken to anyone of his childhood – ever. Sam knew because he was there, but even so, Dean thought that Sam felt as his father had – that Dean was only good as a soldier. He would never have the intelligence his little brother possessed. The one charge his father had given him he had failed at ... bitterly. He looked up as Castiel snorted.

"Sam said you would believe only the worst about yourself. You should have more faith. You are a man worth saving, Dean Winchester. A man worth ... worth almost anything ..." Castiel said. He had taken a huge risk revealing himself to Dean this way.

Dean looked at Castiel. "Sam always did think more highly of me than he should have – at least until this."

"He _still_ thinks highly of you, Dean. You are a warrior and a hero in his eyes ... and he loves you more than life itself. He's had to."

Dean sighed. "Castiel ... there is so much you don't know about me ..."

Castiel took his opening. Walking up to Dean he looked into the hazel eyes for a minute before reaching up and pulling the dark blonde head to him. Their lips pressed firmly together and for a moment, Castiel thought Dean would pull away. A heartbeat passed ... and then another – Castiel felt Dean's tongue gently brush against his lips and he relaxed, opening to the kiss and allowing it to deepen. The caressing of tongues was gentle and unhurried. Castiel smiled when Dean put his arm around his waist and pulled them flush to one another. The need for air was the only thing that could have separated them in their tiny shared blink of time. Breathing heavily, Dean pressed his forehead to Castiel's.

"You never cease to surprise me, Castiel the angel," Dean said hoarsely.

"Good ... I would hate to be predictable."

Dean looked at him for a moment and then laughed. It was a sound that Castiel longed to hear over and over again. A shadow passed over his face as he considered Dean's current path but all thought fled his mind as Dean pulled him into another kiss.

_God, why bring this man to me now of all times ... when I may lose him too soon? Too soon._ Castiel questioned silently.

Plundering Castiel's mouth, Dean felt his heart crack with the knowledge that it could never be more than this. He was going to face the Bishop and end Sam's torment and then his own.

_It isn't fair, Lord ... I think ... I could truly love him ... but why now? WHY?_

The sky remained silent as the sun rose and light haloed the two men lost in a world consisting of only a kiss.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read so far, whether you've commented or not -- this project was an odd undertaking and I wasn't sure anyone would like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction using characters from the Supernatural universe. I do not claim any ownership. This work is solely for entertainment purposes and is not considered film or tv canon (not by a long shot).

The kiss between Dean and Castiel seemed to go on forever.  Dean did not want to release the lips captured by his own.  He reveled in the hard texture of teeth, the soft yielding of the tongue, the firm smoothness of the roof of Castiel's mouth – and he knew Castiel was exploring the same in his own.  A soft groan echoed between them but Dean wasn't sure who uttered it.  It didn't matter.

Castiel willingly sank down with Dean beside the fire.  He wasn't sure how long they'd been kissing but he truly did not care.  For all the things he'd experienced in his life on Earth, Castiel knew he would count this as one of the best.  His heart was pounding in his chest and his breath came in short gasps when they finally separated.  The ground was hard and uncomfortable beneath him and the air was growing colder.  Still, Castiel knew he would never trade this moment for any other.

“Are you truly here, Cas?” Dean asked hoarsely, his hazel eyes studying Castiel's blue ones.

Castiel kissed Dean softly.  “I am here, Dean.  This moment is ours ... ours alone.”

Dean felt his chest tighten at the words.  He'd shared his bed with women and men before everything had gone so wrong.  He'd rolled in silken sheets with beautiful bodies.  He'd tasted more lovers than he wanted to remember and none of them meant anything compared to this moment. They had no soft bed to lay in and there would be no time to caress and whisper soft words after but Dean had never desired anything more than the lithe body beneath his own.  Castiel tasted better than any fine wine.  His skin was rough from his life on the streets of Aquila and his muscles hard from living hand to mouth but Dean could sense a fragility to it all.  There was something behind the hard facade of the man named for an angel ... and Dean wanted to know that part of him.  More surprising, Dean found himself wanting to show Castiel what lay behind his own emotional armor.  He wanted Castiel to see the true Dean Winchester that he kept carefully hidden from everyone – not even Sam knew this part of him.

Castiel's hand drifted along Dean's chest, pushing its way into his shirt, finding the smooth skin beneath.  He smiled when Dean inhaled sharply.  Castiel had known a few lovers in his time but the couplings had been simply for physical pleasure ... there had been no emotional attachment.  This was far different – he wanted Dean with everything in him and he did not want to relinquish him when all was done.  He wanted to see every sunrise with this man and, eventually, every sunset.  Castiel realized he wanted Dean to know everything about himself.  He wondered if that would be more than any man should know but Castiel refused to believe they had been brought together for no purpose.

“Cas ... we have no time ...” Dean groaned as Castiel's hands drifted over him.

“I know, Dean ... I know ... just – please ...” Castiel gasped.  He pushed against Dean's body with his hips, groaning when their very obvious arousal brushed against one another.

Dean's hands were suddenly working at his own belt and he'd freed himself in a moment.  Castiel followed suit and Dean pulled off his gloves to be able to touch the other man.  The cold air made them both suck in a harsh breath, but Dean pressed them as close together as he could to create a small cocoon of warmth.  He clutched Castiel's shoulders, pulling the lips he was beginning to crave to him again for another taste.

“Cas ...” Dean breathed as their bodies pressed and strained against one another.  “Dean – I – oh god, Dean!” Castiel bucked against Dean as he lost control

The hot slickness that spilled over onto Dean sent him over the edge with Castiel.  He growled his release against Castiel's shoulder and for a long moment rode the aftershocks.  He could feel Castiel's body moving erratically beneath him as he drifted in the same heady waves.

After a few minutes, the two rolled apart, wincing at the shock of cold again.  Dean stared up at the brilliant blue sky and mused on how much it reminded him of Castiel's eyes.  He turned his head to look at his companion.  The blue eyes he'd been pondering were regarding him softly.

“I am glad we met, Cas ... even if the circumstances are less than ideal,” Dean said quietly.

“Since it brought me to you, I can't complain overly much about the circumstances, Dean.” Castiel said with a faint smile.

* * *

After they'd cleaned up, Dean and Castiel set about eating breakfast and packing up the camp.  Dean heard the hawk calling and looked for it. He spotted the long wings moving through the air as the hawk flew over a small pond.  The raptor skimmed close to the water, its wingtips just brushing the surface on every downward flap.  Dean smiled sadly as he watched.  He remembered nothing of the times he was a wolf and he assumed Sam remembered nothing of his moments as a hawk.  However, the sight reminded Dean of Sam – he could see his little brother playing in such a manner – showing off for his older sibling.  Dean's eyes glistened with emotion. 

The moment ended when he heard the wooden cart come trundling toward them.  He paused in drawing his sword when he realized it was Singer. Dean ignored the old man and mounted Impala with the hawk settled onto his arm.  He looked down as the monk lifted his arms in frustration.

“On your way to kill his Grace – why must you be so stubborn and not listen to me?” Bobby said helplessly.  “In two days you can face the bishop together in the cathedral with Samuel at your side – and you will break the curse!”

“I will be in Aquila tomorrow, Singer and one way or another there will finally be an end to it.” Dean said somberly.

“Dean ... one day, more or less ... what could it matter?” Castiel asked.

The look of surprise and then hurt that slid across Dean's face would haunt Castiel's dreams.  The mask fell into place again and Castiel wanted to take back the words and deny it all.  Dean's hazel eyes were flat and cold now when they regarded Castiel.  The thief quailed inside – the realization that Dean was closing himself off again hurt worse than Castiel could have ever imagined.

“You too, Cas?  Fine ... I warned you,” Dean tugged on Impala's reigns. “Stay here with this old drunk.”

“No!” Castiel pleaded.  “I'm coming with you – how will you get back into the cathedral without me?”

Dean turned away even as the hawk squawked unhappily.  “It's not your concern anymore, Castiel.  I'll get in – without your help.”

Guiding his mount away, Dean nudged Impala into a ground-eating gallop. Castiel watched miserably as the man he'd fallen in love with rode away without a glance back.  Singer came up beside Castiel and put an arm companionably around the young man's shoulders. 

“Thank you for trying, Castiel.  Thank you for speaking up for what is right,” the monk said.

Castiel worried his lower lip trying very hard not to let the tears building up fall.  “I should have known better,” Castiel said hoarsely. “Every happy moment since my life began here has come from lying.”

* * *

Dean rode away from Castiel with his heart broken in his chest.  He'd trusted where he never should have – again.  He'd been betrayed by someone he loved – again.  “I never learn, do I, Sammy?”

The hawk remained oddly silent as they rode across the foothills toward Aquila.  If the bird noticed the tears sliding down Dean's face, it made no sound.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction using characters from the Supernatural universe. I do not claim any ownership. This work is solely for entertainment purposes and is not considered film or tv canon (not by a long shot).

The sun set on one of the longest days of Castiel's life.  Castiel had never allowed himself to believe that he would ever find anyone on this plane to share his love.  He had long ago resigned himself to a life filled with meaningless joinings simply to find pleasure, however temporary.  In a man his complete opposite, Castiel had discovered an echo to his own pain and loneliness – an kindred spirit of sorts.  The look on Dean's face filled Castiel's thoughts and he fell mute for the entire day – Singer did not press him for his thoughts.

* * *

Sam pulled on his boots and looked around to gauge his surroundings.  He shivered in the biting air – winter had come and they were camped alongside a frozen lake.  After so long trapped in the curse, the brothers had clothing for nearly every possible weather change.  Sam pulled a long, warm woolen cloak around himself.  When he'd come to himself after the change, Sam felt himself strangely bereft.  Castiel was no where to be seen.  He could not have said why, but Sam felt uneasy about the absence. 

Sam knew his brother too well even though they had not seen one another for two years.  Castiel was a clever, caring man – Sam sensed he hid a pain as great or greater than even his own.  Their conversations had been short, but Sam felt comfortable in his company. 

Dean had been alone long before the curse had stricken them – his brother was not one to let _anyone_ past his emotional walls.  More astonishing was his willingness to trust Castiel with Sam himself ... Dean's entire existence had revolved around watching over his younger brother.  Very few people had managed to make it past Sam's personal guard dog, a fact he'd bemoaned more than once.  After Singer's inadvertent betrayal, Sam had somewhat understood Dean's reluctance to open his heart to anyone.

Now a little thief named for an angel had joined their rather strange little family – and Sam knew, if his discovery of Castiel's shirt in the saddlebag was proof, that Dean had fallen hard for the odd but endearing man.  Sam worried about what had passed between them.

“Oh Dean ... what did you do?” Sam sighed.

The dark was alleviated this night by a full moon which bathed the world in silver.  Sam knew all the phases of the moon ... he knew all the constellations ... Sam could travel based on the stars alone.  Two years had taught him much about the world of night that he had not known before.  He would have given up all the knowledge to be able to walk in the sun again ... even for a moment.  He would have forgone even _that_ pleasure if he could just hear his brother's voice or touch his brother's hand.  Half a life left no room to build a relationship ... the Bishop had not even left them the possible peace of a mating for their animal halves.  Wolves and hawks mated for life but Sam knew somehow that his hawk was not attracted to those of its own kind.  He knew Dean's wolf was not. 

A twig snapped, dragging Sam from his melancholy.  His blade was in hand, ready to be used against whatever emerged from the shadows. His face split into a wide grin when he saw Castiel peering around a tree not far away.

“Castiel ... where have you been?!”

“Sam ...” Castiel began.

“You do not know how glad I am that you still travel with us,” Sam said, long legs carrying him to Castiel's side.  Before the thief could protest, he crushed the man against him in a tight embrace.  “Come on, I'm freezing and we need more wood.”

Castiel sighed and jerked away from the younger Winchester.  “Sam!”

“What?” Sam asked, pausing with an irritated look.  It faded as he saw Castiel's expression.  “What's wrong, Castiel?”

“Sam, this may be our last evening together,” Castiel said slowly.

“What? Why?”

Castiel looked nervously at his hands.  “I didn't want to say anything ... not until I believed.  _Truly_ believed, Sam.”

Sam was irritated.  “Out with it, little thief ... truly believed _what_?”

“Sam ... there may be a way to break the curse.” Castiel blurted before he could lose his nerve.  “We have a plan.”

Sam had frozen at Castiel's words.  Break the curse – it was a seductive idea that somewhere there existed a simple cure to the hell the brothers lived in from day to day.  He and Dean had given into that seduction after the first day and night apart.  They had consulted their father's text and left each other notes with ideas and suggestions.  Nothing was possible to even be tried because the curse required _both_ of them to be present in human form to be broken.  After months of dismal disappointment, they'd stopped searching. 

Sam ran his hand over his face – perhaps Dean and Castiel had discovered something together – perhaps that was the reason for his unease.

“A plan – did you and Dean devise something?” Sam asked.

Castiel shook his head.  “No ... not Dean.”

Singer stepped out from behind the tree and into Sam's line of sight.  The younger Winchester groaned and sat down heavily when he saw the old monk.  He no longer wondered at his anxious feelings.

* * *

Sam listened carefully to the plan.  He could immediately come up with any number of reasons why it would never work, but he only had to look at Castiel's face to know that the thief was willing to move heaven itself to free Dean from the curse.  That was enough for him to at least entertain the tiniest sliver of hope. 

Now as he watched Castiel and Singer bickering in a the hole they were attempting to dig in the frozen ground he could almost hear his older brother's voice damning him to be a hundred times a fool.  At least it was amusing to watch – he bit back a snicker as Castiel's patience snapped.

“Singer, this hole is to capture a wolf ... but I will gladly bury _you_ in it if you do not stop shoving me!”

Sam was about to try and peace-keep between the two when his attention was dragged elsewhere.  “Dean ...”

Sam walked away from the trap and the camp.  Even in their separate forms, the brothers had an innate sense of one another's proximity. Sam knew the wolf was nearby and his suspicion was borne out when a mournful howl split the air.  Sam felt his ribs tighten around his heart – he'd never heard such an aching sadness in the howl before. Again he paused to wonder what had passed between his brother and the thief called Castiel.  Singer and Castiel scrambled out of the hole with much cursing.

Sam shushed them both with a frantic gesture and waited, watching for the wolf to show itself.  He was nervous ... the wolf trusted him, was bound to him by the bond of brotherhood.  Sam did not know if that bond would hold if the wolf felt betrayed.  He did not want to contemplate it.  Another howl drifted to him and Sam whirled around ... the wolf was coming across the frozen lake.  He crouched, trying to keep the wolf's natural hesitancy at bay.

Castiel saw the wolf appear and his heart stuttered.  His mind was filled with memories of the time they'd spent only hours before – when the world had consisted of only they two.  Curses and mad bishops were non-existent in the singular sanctuary he'd fled to with Dean. Castiel swallowed hard.  All of that – shattered by a moment's decision to try and make Dean believe.  Castiel should have known better – Dean's faith was wafer-thin after all he had suffered with Sam and the curse.  In Castiel, he thought he'd found someone who understood that pain and would not judge him for his seeking escape.

 _Oh Dean ... if you only knew just how well I understand,_ Castiel thought sadly.

His musings dissipated like smoke when he saw a sight that tore the breath from his lungs.  The wolf trotted toward Sam on the ice ... and with a thundering crack, the ice broke and dropped the wolf into the gelid water.  Stricken yelps echoed across the snow plain.

“ _DEAN!!_ ” Sam yelled.  He raced forward only to stumble back when the ice gave way before him.  Sam's anguished shouts mingled with the wolf's hapless cries.  Throwing his entire length flat, Sam belly crawled across the ice – he strained to reach the wolf whose struggles to gain purchase on the ice outside the hole were fading.

Castiel grabbed Dean's sword and quickly tied one of the ropes to it before slithering out onto the ice.  Sam reached the hole and threw both of his arms around the wolf.  He could not get a grip on the wet fur and the wolf's fight was making it nearly impossible to hold on to him.

A few feet from the hole, Castiel drove the sword into the ice and tied the other end of the rope around his waist before he continued sliding toward the hole.  Once there, Castiel slipped into the water. The freezing cold stole his breath for the second time that night. He took a hold of the wolf's hindquarters and lifted while Sam desperately pulled back.  The cold numbed his hands and Castiel could not keep from being pushed beneath the wolf as it fought.  He screamed and then sucked in water as the wolf's hind claws tore into his chest.  Then both the wolf and the thief were flailing in the water.

“Castiel! NO!” Sam pleaded, straining to get a grip on one or the other of the forms splashing in the dark water.

Castiel wrapped his arms around the wolf and kicked desperately upwards toward the lip of the hole.

 _Lord, if you give me no other boon in this life – please grant me this ... please_ , Castiel prayed.

Together, thief and wolf surged onto the ice, the wolf finally gaining a grip on the firmer ice.  Sam was able to haul the soaked black lupine out of the water with loud grunt.  He fell back and the exhausted wolf did not seek to escape.

Singer had followed them out onto the idea and once the wolf was safe, he began to tug on the rope with all his strength.  By wrapping the rope around his hands, Castiel was just able to hold on tightly enough to be pulled from the lake.  Castiel's thin frame sprawled on the ice, heaving in pained gasps of air.  He felt his clothes freezing on his body but it didn't matter.  Dean was safe.  Dean was safe and they had one last chance to persuade him to believe that he and Sam could be freed.

* * *

Lying on tree boughs laid in the hole previously dug for the wolf trap, Sam opened his eyes as the night sky lightened from black to deep purple.  Dawn was approaching.  He turned his head and looked at the wolf lying beside him, yellow eyes open and watchful.  Sam smiled.

“You would never to do _anything_ by the easier path, would you brother?” He whispered gently.

Castiel had slept little the remainder of the night.  As the sky lightened, he got up and walked silently toward the pit.  Castiel felt odd.  He felt an odd buzzing in his head – like a thousand bees had taken it for a hive.  His skin prickled and he could not focus his thoughts beyond the need to draw closer to the brothers. He looked over the edge at the two Winchesters.  He knew he would be witness to both of them changing ... he looked at the wolf and his heart ached.  Trapped within the animal was the man he knew he would love for the rest of his days – Castiel mused on how beautiful he was even in this form, covered with rich ebony fur.  He wanted to leap down and run his hands through the thickness of it but he was loathe to disturb the scene before him.

Below, hidden from the sun's questing fingers within the deep shadow created by the sides of the hole, Sam sat up and gently carded his fingers through the wolf's fur.  It had been a very long time since he and the wolf had been together for the change.  The sun was rising – Sam could feel it in his very marrow.  The alteration to their forms would happen as it always did but Sam did not want to look away.  The wolf's yellow eyes regarded Sam with the same emotionless gaze held by all of the dumb animals in the world.  In those eyes was nothing of the passionate soul that encompassed Dean Winchester ... Sam felt tears start in his own eyes as the wolf began to shift.  The man hidden on the other side of the morning began to emerge.

Castiel watched from his place beside the pit and shivered.  Tears streamed down his face as he stared down at the brothers.  Castiel felt as though his own body might split apart – he fairly vibrated with building energy that would have to find release and soon.

Oblivious to Castiel's distress, Sam watched the wolf take the beloved shape of his brother and he reached out impulsively.  Dean shuddered and his hazel eyes suddenly focused on Sam sitting just beside him, hand outstretched.  Unable to understand what had brought the wolf to be beside Sam as morning came, Dean stretched out his arm, fingers spread wide.

Morning had arrived and Dean suddenly saw the light spear through the hand reaching for his own.  Sam was gone – the hawk calling to the sky and winging its way out of the pit.  Dean lunged after it with a pained scream.

“ _SAM_!”

Singer had watched Castiel rise and walk to the edge of the trap like a man still sleeping.  He could only imagine the scene there – proof of the pain the brothers existed with daily.  He did not envy the thief those images – ones he himself had witnessed and could never forget.  When Dean called out to his brother, Singer looked over.  He watched the hawk pumping long wings in flight.  Dawn illuminated a sight then that had the old, jaded monk crossing himself as he fell his knees.

As the hawk fled to seek peace among the heights, Dean released a grief-stricken howl and fell against the edge of the trap.  A shadow lay across him and he looked up to see Castiel standing nearby. Dean had wrongly assumed there were no sights left in the world to astonish him and he gaped in disbelief.

Castiel had watched the Winchester brothers altered by the cursed change and denied even the briefest of touches.  The instant between one change and the next was no more than a blink and it only made the anguish of separation all the more keen.  His own frame trembled violently as the hawk flew away.  Castiel opened his mouth to speak to Dean, but then something washed over him and the secret Castiel had kept from his newly found friends and love was revealed.

Castiel cried out as a savage tearing pain split his shoulder blades – agony and ecstasy together. Castiel could not begin to know how it was happening but he cared not a whit as midnight black wings unfurled to either side of him as they had for his entire life in heaven.  Wings that marked him as no mere mortal –  his blue eyes met Dean's transfixed hazel-green gaze and the elder Winchester fell into the fathomless depths.

For a moment that lasted the length of a heartbeat, Castiel could almost hear his brothers and the rest of the heavenly host.  It was suddenly torn away much as it had been the first time he'd drawn breath as a man.  The wings vanished as if they had never been.  In Castiel's mind, the silence was again endless and empty. He fell to his knees and released a scream no less tormented than Dean's soul-wrenching cry.  Castiel's all too human hands reached for the blue of the sky as broken sobs wracked his frame.  He did not feel the strong arms that surrounded him and pulled him against a broad chest.  He did not feel the tears that dampened his hair nor did he hear the softly whispered words of love as the body he lay against trembled.

Dean held Castiel tightly to him.  He kissed the dark hair tenderly murmuring, “I have you, Cas ... I have you ... I won't let go ... I love you, Cas ... I'm here, Cas.  I'm here.”  Dean Winchester had never allowed himself to believe that he would find love in his lifetime.  Even after it had come crashing into his life in the form of a scrawny escaped prisoner named Castiel, he had tried to escape its bonds.  Dean knew now he was completely and absolutely bound to the being in his arms.  Dean knew he should have been terrified based on what he had just witnessed, but instead he only knew that he would bring down heaven itself to end the suffering of the man he held.  A man that only a day before had given him reason to hope that curses could be broken and that his lost faith in God could be restored.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my readers and commenters -- it's been a lot of fun working on this story. I hope you enjoy the ending!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction using characters from the Supernatural universe. I do not claim any ownership. This work is solely for entertainment purposes and is not considered film or tv canon (not by a long shot).

Castiel came to himself beside a strong fire.  He flexed his shoulders and closed his eyes when he felt nothing. 

A hoarse voice drifted from the other side of the fire.  “I’m so sorry, Cas …”

Castiel opened his eyes and sat up slowly.  Dean met the haunted blue gaze. Castiel looked … lost.  Dean wondered if that was how he felt most days. 

“Dean ... I'm sorry ... I never meant ...”

Dean moved quickly to Castiel’s side and pressed a kiss against his temple.

“Do not apologize, my angel.”

Castiel thrilled to hear Dean's words.  “Not 'thief' any longer?”

“I will call you whatever you wish, Cas but know this – I will never leave you again.”  Dean replied with a smile.

Silence stretched between them.  Singer, walking back with an armful of wood sat down heavily and looked at Castiel with wary eyes.  Castiel hugged his knees to his chest and leaned against Dean. 

“Ask.”

“Boy, you know what we saw – what we don't know is how ... or why?” Singer said softly.

Castiel trembled but he saw no way out of the tale he had to tell.  He looked up and met Dean's eyes before looking again into the fire. Dean pressed another kiss against Castiel's hair.

“It’s alright, Cas – I’m not going anywhere without you again,” Dean promised.

Castiel seemed to relax and he inhaled deeply before speaking.

“The Bishop struck a deal for his soul with the demon known as Azazel – he is among the elder demons and very strong.  Azazel cursed you both, Dean.  However, when he lost Sam, the Bishop still lusted and longed.  He tried to find solace in the broken bodies of boys and men alike, but nothing would satisfy.” Castiel paused. “His deal made him bold and he asked another boon of Azazel.  His soul was the price of the first curse, Azazel took my Grace for the second curse and the Bishop was granted his desire.  If a mortal would no longer do, the Bishop decided that no less than an angel of the Lord would warm his bed now.  I was already in Aquila – my Father sent me there to find my charge.”

“Charge?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded.  “The human I was to watch over – I was over the city ... it was very similar to when the quarrel took Sam out of the sky. I was pierced by the blackness my wings were gone ... I was mortal. I fell to Earth – I landed at the feet of the Bishop ... naked and afraid.  I could no longer hear my brothers ... I could no longer hear the voice of my God.  I was so afraid, Dean.”

Castiel shivered and Dean did not wait to ask – he wrapped his cloak around his lover and pressed closer to Castiel's side.  It pained him to hear Castiel speaking so somberly.  It made him murderous toward the Bishop to know what he had done to the angel.

“The Bishop learned of the fickle and devious nature of demons with my curse – he called down an angel from heaven.  He did not specify that he wished it to _remain_ an angel.  I was nothing more than a mere man and he did not desire that.  I was beaten and kept in a cage near his Grace's bed.  My curse will last until yours is broken or Sam gives himself to the Bishop.  Our lives are woven together, Dean.  I would not ... I _will not_ stop you from killing the Bishop.  But if there is a chance ... even the slimmest of possibilities must give you hope, Dean.  A chance at life ... for Sam ... for you.”  Castiel pressed his cold hand against Dean's cheek.  Dean leaned into it and then turned to kiss the palm.

“Castiel ... my angel ... what will happen when the curse is broken?  Will you leave me bereft and alone?” Dean whispered.  His heart was breaking ... he would do anything to return Castiel to heaven.  Even if it meant losing him forever.

“I do not know, Dean.  I know that I love you with everything that is within me – that will never change no matter what form I or you take.” Castiel said quietly, holding Dean's eyes as he did.

Dean smiled sadly and ran his hand through the shock of dark hair.  “I have no mission of honor to take me to Aquila regardless --- Singer tells me my father's sword fell through the ice last night.”

“You are already a righteous and honorable man, Dean – you do not need a jewel in a sword to prove this,” Castiel said.

Dean chuckled and placed a kiss on Castiel's forehead.  “You could almost make me believe that, Cas,” Dean stood abruptly.  “Now then ... let me show you idiots how to cage a wolf.”

* * *

Night fell and Singer approached the main gates into Aquila.  He slowed his cart and drew as close to the river as he could.  A shadow fell from under the tarp covering the back of the cart and scrambled away. Singer growled under his breath.

“Remember, angel ... the cul-de-sac by the great North wall.”

Castiel nodded.  “I will remember ... go!”

Castiel clambered down the bank of the river and paused just above the water. “Lord, if you still hear me – we have now come full circle.  I have found love and purpose and I would hope that there is a higher meaning to all this,” Castiel slid into the water.  “Of course, if there isn't ... I won't think badly of you.”

* * *

Singer pulled his cart into the courtyard leading to the Bishop's enclosure. One of the guards stepped closer and regarded Singer with a bored expression.  “Hold there, Father ... what do you have here?”

“Oh, it is a surprise present for His Grace the Bishop from the people of my parish,” Singer lied quickly.  The cloaked figure beside him did not speak and kept its head down. 

The guard tore back the leather covers over the back of the cart – and jumped back a foot when a caged black wolf snarled and snapped at him.

“A fine pelt, don't you think?” Singer asked loudly. 

The guard huffed and then looked closely at the cloaked person sitting beside the monk.  “What have we here ...?”

With another jerk, the guard tore back the hood.  Sam regarded the man disdainfully but said nothing.  The wolf, however, went mad, snapping and snarling through the bars of its cage.  The guard looked over with irritation and drew his sword.

“I've never had the pleasure of killing a wolf before,” he said.

Sam clenched his hands into fists and then laughed out loud.  The guard paused with a confused expression.  Sam elbowed Singer.  “That's just what His Grace said!”

The guard pulled back and looked at Sam who was grinning.  “I'm sure the Bishop will understand you depriving him of his entertainment – he's a very forgiving sort of man, after all.”

The guard grimaced and sheathed his sword.  “Very well ... pass on.”

Singer chuckled.  “Wisdom is beyond price, young man ... be grateful that you have it.”

The guard shook his head.  “Get on, old man!”

Singer urged his donkey on with a light flick of his switch.  “Idjit.”

Sam chuckled beside him and did not disagree.

* * *

Morning dawned cloudy and cold.  The Bishop stood with his altar boys as he prepared for Mass.  He felt uneasy for some reason.  An ill wind was blowing but he could not decide what it might be.  One of the clergy approached him to escort him to begin the Mass and he snapped, “When _I_ am ready!”

* * *

Castiel swam against the current to the hole in the grate he'd escape through only a few days prior. Castiel believed he would be terrified if he ever had to face the Bishop again.  Instead, he found himself determined and driven – the love he felt for Dean gave him a courage he had not experienced since his entrapment.  He smiled and broke the surface of the water with a quiet gasp.  Swimming to the access shaft, Castiel looked up at the grate above his head. 

 _Soon, Dean.  You will be free soon ... if it takes all I am, you will be free, _Castiel thought.

* * *

Singer watched the morning sky with its blanket of clouds.  He walked to Dean who stood in the stable next to Impala.  The hawk sat on a nearby rail, restless and making small noises of discontent. Singer's expression was excited.

“Soon, Dean ... once the clouds break.”

Dean looked at the gray sky.  He slipped a small sliver of meat to the hawk and watched as it devoured it. He did not look at Singer as he said, “It is day, old man.  Just like yesterday and just like tomorrow.  There is nothing special about it.”

Singer looked at Dean in dismay.  The elder Winchester did not believe still ... but would he condemn Castiel by not trying?

* * *

Armed with only a small dagger, Castiel worked at the grate, trying to loosen it.  He had to be free and inside the church before the eclipse.  Preferably before the Bishop arrived for Mass. 

_A little help, perhaps, Lord?_

The Bishop and his entourage entered the church just as Castiel worked the grate free.  He cursed softly and pulled it back into place only to curse again when one of the clergy stood on it.  He frowned and then looked at his dagger.  A mischievous smile slid across his face.

The clergyman jumped back as something sharp slid through his shoe and into his foot.  His companions looked at him in alarm – not only for the strange behavior but also for worry that the Bishop would see. 

“Rats!” The man declared.

Rats were a constant nuisance and a familiar one, even in such a holy place.  Taking his staff, the man poked it vigorously through the holes in the grate before his companion pulled him away.  Castiel smirked.  Humans were easy to deceive sometimes.  Twisting himself, Castiel performed his escape of earlier only in reverse.  He emerged into the church unseen by the clergy who were focused on the Bishop.  Soft voices drifted through the room with hymns.  Castiel smiled to himself.  In another life, he had very much enjoyed human songs of worship.  The songs had taken a darker meaning to him when he'd experienced evil by a man regarded as holy and above reproach.

* * *

Dean sighed and paced impatiently.  Looking at Singer he shook his head. “The Mass will be over soon, old man.  I can no longer wait.” Dean looked toward the church.  “If Castiel has done his job, I can kill the Bishop now or never.”

Singer looked at the young man helplessly.  “No, Dean!  This chance will never come again!”

Dean looked down at the hooded hawk that rested on his arm.  He met the monk's eyes.  “I know.  Singer ... “Dean handed the man Sam's knife, the same one he used to kill and skin rabbits.  “If the service ends peacefully ... if the cathedral bells begin to toll ... you will know I have failed.”

Singer looked at the blade and then back at Dean.  “What will I tell Sam?”

Dean looked sadly at the raptor sitting obediently on his arm – it chirped mildly and Dean's eyes started with tears.  “Bobby ... please ... if I fail ... you have to ... _please_ end his life.  Quick and painless while he is unaware.”

Singer regarded Dean in horror.  “Dean, I can't  ... you can't ask me to do this!  I've known you both since you were boys!”

Dean put his hand on Singer's shoulder.  “I know ... and because you love us both as sons, you _must_ do this.  It would be more cruel to condemn him to a half-life without the sun for the remainder of his days.  I know Sammy ... if you don't do it, he will after it becomes too much to bear.  Would you condemn him to Hell as a suicide?”

“Dean ... please ... I couldn't do it.”

“Bobby, did it ever occur to you that _this_ is what God intended all along?” Dean asked quietly.

Singer's eyes spilled over with tears.

* * *

Castiel, wearing a 'borrowed' cloak, made his way to the heavy doors at the back of the church.  He sidled along them innocently, feeling behind him with his hands until he found the lock holding the bars in place. His nimble fingers began to work. 

* * *

Dean rode Impala into Aquila.  It felt odd and yet strangely familiar to be back on the cobblestone streets, hearing his mount's heavy footfall on the stone.  He wore his helmet of office as he had for so long.  He had once served the Bishop with pride.  He would die with his head high and proud.  Riding to the church, Dean surveyed the guards arrayed in front.  He slowed Impala and then addressed the men before him.

“As the one who _was_ your captain ... and perhaps by the grace of God will be again, I ask you to let me pass.”  Dean's commanding voice echoed in the courtyard.

The lead officer rode his mount until he was beside Dean.  He lifted his helmet guard and Dean recognized him as one of his lieutenants.  The man studied Dean for a moment and then said, “Pass, Captain ... Godspeed.”

Dean nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat at the respect the man gave him.  The ranks parted and Dean guided Impala through the opening to meet his destiny.

* * *

Castiel was frantically working at the lock with his dagger and becoming more and more frustrated as the moments passed.  Glancing back, he realized that the guards had noticed him.  Not wanting to disturb the sanctity of the moment, they were making their way back to him slowly and sedately.  It was the only reprieve Castiel could hope for – he prayed furiously under his breath.

_Lord, I must do this ... I must ... please Lord ... You have shown me love ... You have brought him to me ... please do not take him from me ... I beg of You ... please let this lock --_

At that moment, the lock released.  Castiel looked heavenward with a grin.  “Much appreciated, Lord.”

The guard quickened his step as Castiel raised the bar on the doors.  His sword was raised as Castiel clambered up to reach the locks at the top and slid them back.  As his blade cut a downward arc to Castiel's unprotected back, the door was slammed open by the front hooves of a midnight black horse.  The guard was knocked off his feet and his sword clattered harmlessly to the floor.  Castiel rode the door back and grimaced as he hit the wall but his eyes were bright with emotion as Dean rode through on Impala.  Dean paused for a moment and looked at the man he had given his heart.  He smiled and Castiel returned it.  Then Dean rode Impala into the church and down the center aisle to stand before the Bishop, regarding the man who had destroyed his life and Sam's with unbridled hatred.  He raised his sword only to lower it again as the sound of hooves echoed again in the church.  Turning, he saw Crowley enter on his white stallion.

“Winchester!” The man roared.

Dean looked back at the Bishop who regarded him impassively.  He had no choice, he had to defend himself against Crowley if he was going to survive to take the Bishop's life.  Turning Impala, Dean urged his horse into a gallop as Crowley did the same.  The clang of swords rang through the church.

* * *

Castiel ran with every bit of speed he could muster from his human frame.  He scrambled to the stable where the cart stood and found Singer and the hawk gone as planned.  He crawled under the cart and pulled out a bundle.  He smiled. 

“Thank you, Lord.”  Dean's family sword emerged from the cloth. 

* * *

Weaving through the pillars on either side of the church, Dean pursued Crowley.  He'd allowed the man to remount once when his mount fell. When he managed to unhorse Crowley again, he did not allow him the same courtesy.  As Dean pulled up beside the man, Crowley pulled off his helmet and launched it at Dean who ducked.  The missile sailed over Dean's head and crashed through the massive stained window. Sunlight spilled into the church and dazzled Dean's sight for a moment.

Crowley took the moment to launch himself at Dean.  Grabbing the elder Winchester's cloak, he bodily hauled him off Impala and brought him crashing to the floor.  Dean growled and pushed himself upright again while at the same time aiming a hard uppercut to Crowley's jaw and tossing the man to one side. 

Snatching up his sword, Dean stalked toward the Bishop.  Guards flew out of from the arcade and attacked Dean ... he was loathe to spill blood in the church and so he simply knocked them aside.  One by one he tossed away until he stood before the dais where the Bishop looked down at him, fear beginning to spark in his eyes.

Crowley tackled Dean from behind, throwing him to the stones.  Dean rolled, bringing up his sword in time to parry Crowley's enraged strikes. Getting his leg up, Dean was able to kick Crowley away and into one of the pillars that lined the aisle.  The man sank to the floor, stunned.

Dean grabbed his sword and was turning back to the Bishop when something caught his eye.  Through the broken stained glass window, Dean watched in disbelief as a shadow began to creep across the sun.  He watched, frozen as Singer's prediction became reality before him.

“A night without a day ... a day without a night ...” Dean's face grew pale as he remembered what he had told Singer to do.  “No ... Singer!  Wait!”  Dean began to run down the aisle, his mind no longer on killing the Bishop.

Crowley emerged with a roar and tackled Dean.  Dean fought madly – he had to reach Singer before he carried out his request – Dean knew he could never live with himself else.  Crowley, however, would not give up.  Fists and swords crashed wildly as the two men battle one another.  Slamming Crowley to the ground again, Dean looked up to see a guard reaching for the bell ropes.  He pulled his dagger and threw it with all the strength he had.  It landed true and the man fell to the floor below.  He heard Crowley's angered shout behind him and he turned.  As they clashed again, Dean heard a sound that froze his blood in his veins.  The bells.

“No! Stop!” Dean's voice reverberated through the church as the hateful sound pealed over the city.  “No ... Sammy ...”

Dean stumbled toward the doors, not wanting to believe ... not daring to let himself realize what had happened.  Singer would hear and he would end Sam's life.  Because Dean asked it of him.  Because Dean did not have the faith to believe in miracles.  Tears streamed down his face as he whispered,  “Bobby, make it quick.”

Turning back into the church, Dean's purpose narrowed to one thing:  killing the Bishop.  Crowley never stood a chance.  Dean's eyes blazed with righteous anger and his attacks held nothing back.  The two men battled to the foot of the stage where the Bishop watched and Dean stumbled forward.  He barely managed to roll away from Crowley's strike and grab the sword from the false captain's hands.  Flipping it, Dean held the sword tightly and watched as Crowley impaled himself upon it.  He shoved the corpse aside and stood, breathing heavily.

“Dean!”

Dean looked up to see Castiel toss his father's sword to him.  He caught it easily and spun it in his hand – the heavy weight familiar and right.  Dean walked over to Castiel and pulled the man to him in a hard kiss.  He heard the gasps and cries of outrage but Dean no longer cared.  He would not see this day out alive but he would not go without telling Castiel how he felt.

“I have condemned you to a Hell not of your making, Cas.  For that please forgive me,” Dean whispered.  “I love you, my angel.  I will always love you.”

Castiel was stunned speechless.  He did not understand what Dean meant but the pain in his lover's voice was obvious and sharp.  He pressed his hand to Dean's cheek and nodded.  “Do what you must, Dean.  I will love you forever, curse or no curse.”

Dean nodded and stalked over to the Bishop, his sword raised.  The Bishop regarded him coolly. 

“But Winchester ... kill me and the curse will go on forever.  We must think of young Samuel.”

Dean sneered.  “Sam is dead.”  His heart broke uttering the words. 

The Bishop's face twisted into a mockery of grief.  His beautiful young man was gone ... forever out of his grasp.  Dean snarled, “Damn you ... damn you to hell!”

Dean's sword arced through the air to split the Bishop's skull when a voice Dean had not heard in two years echoed through the church.

“Dean?”

Castiel and the entire gallery turned to see a tall young man walking down the center aisle.  A sad look graced Sam's face and Dean sucked in a broken gasp.  “Sammy ...”

Turning, he grabbed the Bishop and threw him to his knees.  He shook the man fiercely.  “ _Look at him!”_ Dean shouted.

The Bishop looked at Sam with terror-stricken eyes.  Dean pivoted and put the tip of his sword to the Bishop's throat.  “ _Look at me!”_   The disbelieving gaze focused on Dean slowly.  Dean snarled at last, “ _Look at_ _us_ _!”_

Dean turned his back on the man and walked toward his younger brother. Sam met his brother half-way and the two embraced tightly.

“Dean ... is it really over?” Sam asked, his eyes wet with tears.

“Yes, Sammy ... it's over ... finally ... it's over.” Dean replied.

Sam looked over his brother's shoulder at the Bishop who stood shaking. His eyes went cold and he walked past Dean.  The amber gaze never wavered as Sam walked steadily to stand before the Bishop.  The man shivered at the utter disdain in Sam's eyes.  Holding out his hand, Sam opened his fist to reveal the hood and jesses used to hold and control the hawk.  He held them in front of the Bishop and then tossed them to the ground at his feet.  The Bishop flinched at the obvious dismissal.

Sam turned and walked back to his brother.  His smile was wide.  Behind him, however, the Bishop's countenance was shifting and twisting as every dark intention came boiling up.  His rage at being denied filled him and he suddenly lofted his staff like a javelin.  “If I cannot have you, no one will!”

Dean's hand was on his sword ready to throw it when every other window in the church exploded.

“You. Will. Not. Harm. Them.”

The voice was deep and rough – Dean would have recognized it anywhere. Castiel stood at the doors of the church.  Gone was the meek mortal thief – Dean knew the man he was seeing now was the warrior angel Castiel was meant to be.  The black wings protruded to either side of Castiel's body and his eyes glowed with an energy not of the world. A flutter of wings and Castiel stood over the now-cowering Bishop. Dean squinted, he thought he could see a wavering shadow beside the Bishop, but he couldn't trust his vision.  Sam's hand was on his shoulder and the brothers exchanged looks before watching events unfold.

* * *

Castiel looked down at the man with a gaze that barely controlled his wrath. The Bishop began to plead and beg.

“Please do not kill me please forgive me please I was wrong ... I never intended ... forgive me forgive me forgive me,” the man babbled. His sanity was only being held together by the thinnest of threads.

Castiel regarded the man curiously.  “Forgiveness?  You cursed two men because you could not have the one thing you wanted ... you ripped me, an angel of the Lord, from heaven and condemned me to life here as a mortal.  You ask forgiveness ...” Castiel leaned in close to the Bishop's face.  “Human, you have to have a soul for that.”

With those words, Castiel glanced at the shadow hovering near him.  The Bishop's scream echoed through the church as the shadow flowed into him and he vanished – his robes fell to the floor, empty. 

Castiel turned and walked to the brothers where Sam stood with his arm around Dean's shoulders.  Singer was beside them.  Placing his hand on Dean's shoulder and Singer's, Castiel brought them out of the church and to the walkway on top of the Aquila city wall. 

Dean blinked in the sudden sunlight.  His heart, while filled with joy that his little brother was with him again, was breaking as he looked at the being that had been his lover for so short a time.  Castiel looked at Dean.  Taking his face in both hands, Castiel kissed him. The black wings enfolded them both, blocking out the world.  Sam smiled as did Singer.

When they parted, Dean whispered, “Cas ... will you leave me now?”

Castiel regarded Dean with faint amusement.  “Do you wish me to leave you, Dean?”

“No! Never!  But ... you are ... and I am a man.  And not a well-educated one at that.” Dean said sadly.

Castiel smiled.  “Dean ... remember that I said I was already in Aquila?”

“Yes. To find your human charge.”

“Dean ... _you_ are my human charge.  My Father sent me here for _you_.”

Dean blinked.  “For me?  But I'm no one special ...”

“You are to me, Dean.  My Father is the Creator of everything ... do you suppose He did not know I would fall in love with you?” Castiel asks.

Dean shakes his head.  “Does this mean you will stay?”

“For as long as you live, Dean,” Castiel promised.

“What happens when I die?”

Castiel smiled and pressed another kiss to Dean's lips.  “Your death will be the last time we are separated, Dean.  I will never leave you.  I will always love you.”

“My beautiful angel ...” Dean said softly, his hand trembling as he ran his fingers over Castiel's lips.

Sam chuckled as the wings enveloping Dean shivered.  Singer shook his head.  “Only your brother could manage to test the resolve of an angel.”

Sam smiled, his heart full for Dean and hopeful for the future.  He closed his eyes and turned his face to the sun to bask in its warmth. A rustle of wings had him opening his eyes to see that Dean and Castiel were gone.  He sighed and began to walk to one of the towers to return to the city.  Singer ambled along beside him.

“I fully expect to see you both at the gates of Heaven,” Singer said sternly.

“Castiel did a fair job picking the locks on the church doors – I'm sure we'll get in one way or another,” Sam teased.

Singer's laughter rang over the parapets. 


End file.
